


Nameless Beast

by r0gue1



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Ending, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Canon Compliant, Elvhen Language, Elvhen Pantheon, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Mages (Dragon Age), Plot Twists, Slavery, Slow Burn, Solavellan Hell, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0gue1/pseuds/r0gue1
Summary: A cautionary tale of gods, magic, lovers, and wolves.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Elvhen translations:
> 
> Tel'eolasan - I don't understand  
> Ame eth i'em - You are safe with me  
> Ir abelas - I am sorry (I am filled with sorrow)  
> Melava somniar - Time to dream  
> She'va dahl- Random exclamation  
> Fen - Wolf
> 
> Faolin is a variation of Faolan, a Gaelic name that means "little wolf"

“Tel’eolasan,” a man’s voice spoke softly. She felt her left hand in the hands of another with fingers tracing the lines of her palm. She closed her eyes tightly then opened them. The room was dark, except the glow from the fire, and her vision was out of focus. “Damnit,” the man’s voice exclaimed quietly from her side. She groaned at the sharp pain in her neck when she failed to lift her head from the pillow. She felt a hand on her cheek, “Shhhhh.” She tried to see him, but he was just a silhouette sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. The hand moved gingerly up to her temple and forehead. The fingers then combed her hair back away from her face. Her scalp tingled, and her breath slowed. Her eyes became heavy again. “Ame eth i’em,” he whispered, and she could feel the warm air from his mouth as his lips barely grazed her forehead. She exhaled in a long breath, and her mind grew still. Her aching body relaxed into the warm softness of the bed. After what felt like eternity, she heard muffled voices and footsteps in the distance, possibly outside, growing nearer. She felt the weight of the bed shift as the man stood up from beside her. “Ir abelas,” he said standing over her, “melava somniar.” She dreamt of so many eyes, running through a green fog, and the white glowing woman atop the stairs.

The intense shocking pain in her left wrist awoke her with a gasp. She was on her knees with her wrists in stocks. The ground was hard, damp, and cold. There was a chill in the air, and echoes of water dripping. Looking around, her vision finally came back into focus. Armored men encircling her with their swords drawn at her quickly made her realize that the situation was not in her favor. Suddenly the wooden door in front of her flew open and two women entered the room. The armored men lowered their swords as a woman with short black hair in a defender coat with a white eye on the chest walked around her, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.” She furrowed her brow in confusion, and remained silent. “Explain this,” said the woman as she grabbed her left wrist, holding it up. Another shock of pain and a green glow emitted from the palm of her hand. “I-I can’t,” she fumbled over her words. “What do you mean you can’t,” the woman raised her voice, releasing her arm. “I don’t know what that is, or how it got there,” she insisted to the angry woman. This only seemed to anger her more as she was in her face with a hand on either shoulder, “you’re lying!” The second woman, a Chantry sister dressed in medium leather armor with a purple cowl, pulled the first woman off of her. “We need her Cassandra,” she reminded the other woman. Feeling defensive in her predicament, she spoke out, “whatever you think I did, I’m innocent!” The Chantry sister turned to face her, “do you remember what happened? How this all began?” Cassandra began walking around her again as she spoke, “I remember running. Things were chasing me, and then… a woman?” The Chantry sister was curious, “a woman?” “She reached out to me, but then—“ Cassandra interrupted her, “Go to the Forward Camp, Leliana,” she said to the Chantry sister, “I will take her to the Rift.” Leliana nodded and disappeared out the door, leaving her alone with Cassandra who then knelt down to remove her stocks. She looked down at her wrists, still bound with rope, she asked, “What did happen?” Cassandra lifted her to her feet, “it will be easier to show you.”

The cold air and snow kissed her face as Cassandra guided her out the door. At first she thought she might still be dreaming for she could not believe what she was seeing. A giant hole in the sky and a cyclone of green smoke and debris spinning steadily out of it. Or was it toward it? She couldn’t be sure. “We call it the Breach,” said Cassandra, “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.” Baffled, she asked, “an explosion can do that?” Cassandra turned to face her, “this one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.” Suddenly the Breach flashed like lightning, and she fell to her knees screaming from the pain in her hand. Cassandra knelt down in front of her, “each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” She looked down at her hand, “you say it may be the key. To doing what?” “Closing the Breach,” she exclaimed, “whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however, and yours.” She felt threatened by this, “you still think I did this? To myself?” Cassandra shook her head, “not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong.” “And if I’m not responsible?” “Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.” She took another look up at the Breach and inhaled deeply, “I understand.” Cassandra’s eyes widened, “Then…” Meeting her hopeful gaze, she said “I’ll do what I can.”

They cut a path through the valley, fighting shades and wraiths along the way. Cassandra still did not trust her, but the situation was dire, so she had reluctantly allowed her to keep the staff she had picked up. They climbed their way up a flight of stairs embedded in snow. “We’re almost there. You can hear the fighting,” Cassandra called ahead to her. “Who’s fighting?” “You’ll see soon enough. We must help them.” At the top of the stairs she saw an elven mage and a dwarf fighting off several shades. Nearby was what appeared to be green, glowing shards of crystal suspended in the air. There was a sudden jolt of pain in her left wrist and her palm lit up again. Cassandra charged forward with her shield readied and sword drawn. She quickly grabbed the staff from her back and twirled it over her head before slamming the end of it on the ground. A chain of lightning hit 3 of the shades as she began moving forward, assaulting the shades with blasts of fire. Once the shades were vanquished, the elven mage ran toward her yelling, “Quickly! Before more come through!” Before she could react, he grabbed her left wrist and forced her hand up toward the green, glowing object in the air. There was a spark from her hand, and then a bolt of what looked like green electricity shooting out toward the object. After a few seconds, the object vanished without a trace.

She quickly pulled her wrist away from his grip and held it near her chest while looking at him unnerved, “what did you do?” He shook his head at her, “I did nothing. The credit is yours.” She held her hand out in front her, “You mean this?” “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct,” he explained. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra chimed in. “Possibly,” the elven mage replied before turning his gaze back to her, “it seems you hold the key to our salvation.” She averted her gaze and thought his voice sounded familiar, but she was sure she’d never met him. “Good to know,” the dwarf interjected, “here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He approached her with his right hand outstretched, “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag-a-long”, he introduced himself then winked at Cassandra who scowled in response. He was dressed in a sort of silky, red embellished dress shirt which was unbuttoned exposing his chest hair. Over the shirt he wore a light brown leather coat, and over his shoulder a beautifully crafted crossbow. She shook his hand with her non-afflicted hand, “Faolin,” she introduced herself finally, “that’s…a nice crossbow you have there.” “Ah, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together,” he beamed. She smirked at him, “You named your crossbow, Bianca?” “Of course, and she’ll be great company in the valley.” “Absolutely not,” Cassandra stepped forward toward the dwarf, “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but.“ The dwarf cut her off, “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me,” he smiled up at her. Cassandra scoffed and turned away from him. The elven mage smiled at her warmly then extended his left hand to her, “my name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I’m pleased to see you still live.” Hesitantly she extended her marked hand to shake his to which he appeared completely unfazed, “Faolin,” she replied, watching her hand in his just in case. Varric interrupted their exchange, “he means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'” Her eyes widened, swallowing hard, she looked up to meet Solas’ gaze. She recalled the man studying the mark on her hand, speaking native tongue, running his fingers through her hair to calm her, and--it was him! She raised a brow and looked him in the eye assuredly, “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she remarked. He gave her an inquisitive look, unsure how to take her new tone and expression. “Like you, Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra commented. “Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” he replied, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.” Faolin tilted her head slightly with curiosity, “And what will you do once this is all over?” “One hopes that those in power will remember who helped, and who did not,” he replied.

She straightened her head and lifted her chin slightly, sizing him up. He was a little taller than her, bald, and no facial hair. His brows suggested that his hair may have been a dark, chestnut brown. His eyes appeared to be grayish-blue, but she couldn’t be certain. He was properly layered for the Frostbacks with a dark green high-neck shirt under an off-white sweater, and green fur-trimmed vest over that. In addition to his staff, he also carried a pack. She gave a peculiar look to the black animal jaw talisman he wore like a sort of necklace. She took a single step toward him, studying the jaw, “Fen,” she commented. He looked surprised, “Excuse me?” Her eyes met his, “Your talisman, it is a wolf’s jaw, no?” He furrowed his brow and defensively replied, “That it is,” his expression then softened, but his tone was more coy, “You are Dalish, are you not? And clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?” Her lips curled into a scowl, he was challenging her. “What do you know of the Dalish?” “I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on many occasion,” he replied matter-of-factly. She squinted at him, “what do you mean ‘crossed paths’?” “I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.” She clenched her teeth and opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by Varric, “Can’t you elves just play nice for once?” Suddenly, the sky flickered with green lightning and Faolin grabbed her left hand, grunting from the pain. “We need to keep moving,” Cassandra urged them. Solas’ face shifted from cocky to concerned, “My magic cannot stop your mark from spreading. For your sake, I suggest we hurry.”

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” said Solas as they approached the smoldering ruins. “What’s left of it,” said Varric. Charred corpses, bones and ash littered the ground, and Faolin felt remorse for what happened to these people. “That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was,” Cassandra gravely explained. As they progressed forward and rounded a corner, Faolin’s jaw fell and her eyes widened. There before them, high in the air, was a large rift suspended below the Breach itself. “The breach is a long way up,” Varric murmured with uncertainty. “You’re here! Thank the Maker,” exclaimed Leliana from behind them with a contingency of archers and warriors. The four of them turned to acknowledge her arrival. “Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” ordered Cassandra. Leliana nodded in affirmation before turning to direct her men. Faolin traded glances with Solas standing next to her as they returned their attention to the task at hand. Cassandra approached her, “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?” “I’ll try, but I don’t know if I can reach that, much less close it,” Faolin replied. “No. This rift was the first and it is the key,” insisted Solas, “seal it, and perhaps we can seal the Breach.” “Then let’s find a way down, and be careful,” said Cassandra.

They were descending the path to the rift when a booming voice echoed over them. “Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.” “What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked. “At a guess, the person who created the Breach,” replied Solas. They continued their downward trek, and noticed a red glow from a corner of their path. Varric looked disturbed, “You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker?” “I see it, Varric,” replied Cassandra. “But what’s it doing here?” Solas suggested, “Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it.” Varric shook his head and ushered the others away from it, “Its evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.” Further down their path, the booming voice echoed again, “Keep the sacrifice still,” then a woman’s voice, “Someone help me!” Cassandra stopped, “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” As they approached the rift, more echoes from the fade, “Someone help me!” “What’s going on here?” Cassandra turned to Faolin, “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you, but-“

The rift flashed and their surroundings were suddenly hazy. Ghostly figures appeared before them, a Chantry woman on her knees, unable to move, and a black figure with glowing red eyes looming over her. A third figure suddenly appeared. It was Faolin. “What’s going on here?” “Run while you can! Warn them,” shouted the Chantry woman. “We have an intruder,” boomed the black figure, “slay the elf!” The rift flashed again, and the images were gone. Cassandra looked to Faolin for answers, “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” She shook her head at Cassandra, “I don’t remember!” “Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” said Solas turning to them, “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” “That means demons! Stand ready,” Cassandra called out to everyone. The archers and warriors took their positions and readied their weapons. With a nod from Cassandra, Faolin reached up toward the rift with the mark. Several flashes, and the rift reopened, throwing a very large Pride demon out into their midst. Cassandra raised her sword, “Now!”


	2. The Threat Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations:
> 
> Ma nuvenin - As you say  
> Ma serannas - My thanks/Thank you

“Oh!” A loud thud. “I didn’t know you were awake! I swear!” The young elven servant had dropped the box she was carrying onto the floor, looking across the room at her nervously. Sitting up in the bed, Faolin held up her hand in reassurance, “Don’t worry about it. I only”, but the servant fell to her knees, bowing before her, “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” Faolin stood up from the bed, a bit confused by her behavior, “Where are we?” “You’re back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!” Faolin helped the elf to her feet. Three days? She sighed to herself. The servant was taking backward steps toward the door. “Wait! Then the danger is over?” The elf nodded at her nervously, “The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say. I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve awakened. She said ‘at once’!” Faolin stepped toward her, baffled by her fear, “And where is she?” “In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’, she said!” The elf slammed the door behind her. Faolin sighed, rubbing the back of her neck and glanced over at the table in the corner of the room. There were several pages of paper with a quill and inkwell, a pitcher with two cups, and a package wrapped in brown butcher paper and secured with twine. 3 days. Her mouth was parched. She poured a cup of water, gulping it down in one drink, then poured a second. As she drank, the writing on the top page of paper caught her attention. She set down the cup, picked up the pages and began reading through them.

DAY ONE

CLAMMY. SHALLOW BREATHING. PULSE OVER-FAST. NOT RESPONSIVE. PUPILS DILATED.

THE MAGE SAYS HER SCARRING “MARK” IS THRUMMING WITH UNKNOWN MAGIC.

WISH WE COULD STATION A TEMPLAR IN HERE, JUST IN CASE, BUT I GUESS HE’LL DO.

DAY TWO

PULSE NORMAL. BREATHING NORMAL.

STILL UNRESPONSIVE; CAREFUL DROP-FEED OF PREP. ELFROOT EXTRACT TO HASTEN HER RECOVERY.

A LOT OF THRASHING. MUTTERS ABOUT TOO MANY EYES. SOMETHING ABOUT “THE GREY”. ENCOURAGING?

MAGE LEFT WHEN LADIES CASSANDRA AND LELIANA CAME BY WITH SOLDIERS.

THEY WANT HER MOVED TO THE CHANTRY.

DAY THREE

LESS THRASHING. SOME RESPONSE TO STIMULUS. VITALS SEEM SOLID.

TWO ATTEMPTS SO FAR BY LOCALS TO BREAK INTO THE CHANTRY TO KILL MY PATIENT.

ALL THIS WORK TO SAVE HER LIFE, AND WILL THEY JUST EXECUTE HER?

WILL INFORM LADY CASSANDRA I EXPECT HER TO WAKE BEFORE THE MORN?

She set the pages down on the table, taking another drink from the cup, and noticed the rough leather boots on the floor next to the table. She set the cup back down and started pulling at the twine to unwrap the package. Harritt, the town’s blacksmith, had fashioned her a stunning hooded coat and pants from what looked like wolf pelts and leather. The coat was lined with soft white cotton, and adorned with red twine, bear teeth and claws. Something the Avvar would wear, she thought, suitable for the weather in the Frostbacks. Though she enjoyed the snow, she was used to the coastal forests of the Northern Free Marches, and felt a pang of nostalgia when she thought about her clan. Bundled up in her new clothes, she made her way for the door. She paused. What if the townspeople were still angry with her? What if they still blamed her for the death of their Most Holy? What if they still wanted her dead? She was still an elf, a Dalish elf, and didn’t entirely trust shems. No matter. She couldn’t stay in there forever, and she wanted some air. She took a deep breath, and opened the door.

She squinted as the warm light of the sun shone on her face. She exhaled thick white breath, inhaled the cold mountain air deeply, and exhaled again with a sigh. She stepped outside and was taken back by the sight of the villagers gathered on either side of the path. Two soldiers were standing at attention on either side of the door who she presumed were preventing entry, they crossed their arms over their chests as she passed between them. Starting down the path, she noticed other soldiers saluting her, and some of the villagers bowed their heads or kneeled. What was happening? She didn’t understand until—“That’s her. That’s the Herald of Andraste.” What? “They said when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her,” said one villager to another in a hushed voice. This is not good, she thought. This is all wrong. As she approached the Chantry, several villagers on either side of her path reached out to touch her shoulders. “Maker be with you.” “Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste.” “Walk safely, Herald of Andraste.” A soldier saluted her with at least 10 more at attention, “Good luck sealing those rifts.” Her heart sank into her stomach, and a sense of dread washed over her. I am not your savior, she said to herself.

She heard the shouting from the far end of the Chantry Hall, and recognized Chancellor Roderick’s voice from the Forward Camp. “Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” “I do not believe she is guilty,” she heard Cassandra say. “The elf failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.” “I do not believe that,” said Cassandra again. Faolin stood on the other side of the door, unsure if she should enter or turn around and flee Haven altogether. “That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry,” exclaimed Roderick. “My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.” Against her better judgment, he pushed open the door and entered the room. “Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial,” commanded Roderick of the two soldiers by the door. “Disregard that, and leave us,” ordered Cassandra. The guards saluted Cassandra and exited the room, pulling the door behind them. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” said Roderick. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” declared Cassandra.

Faolin folded her arms over her chest, glaring at Roderick, “so I’m still a suspect, even after what we just did?’ “You absolutely are,” he seethed back at her. “No, she is not,” Cassandra rebutted. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana spoke up, “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others, or have allies who yet live.” Roderick looked at her appalled, “I am a suspect?” “You, and many others,” she replied. He pointed at Faolin, “but not the prisoner?” “I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help,” argued Cassandra. Roderick folded his arms across his chest, “So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a coincidence?” “Providence,” replied Cassandra, “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” Faolin looked at Cassandra in disbelief, “You realize I’m an elf. A Dalish elf.” “I have not forgotten,” said Cassandra, “No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.” Cassandra stepped away from the table over which they were arguing to the bookshelf on the back wall. “The Breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” said Leliana. “That is not for you decide,” said Roderick. Cassandra returned, slamming a large, thick, heavy book down on the table. Pointing at it, she asked Roderick, “You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” Cassandra approached him, poking him in the chest, forcing him to step backward. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.” He was speechless, shaking his head at her then looking at the floor. And with that, he left.

“This is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana spoke of the book on the table, “Rebuild the Inquisition of Old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” “But we have no choice,” interjected Cassandra, “We must act now. With you at our side.” Faolin studied the book from across the table, “What is the Inquisition of Old, exactly?” “It preceded the Chantry. People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad,” explained Leliana. “After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more,” stated Cassandra. Faolin shot a confused look at them, “But aren’t you still part of the Chantry?” Cassandra snorted, “Is that what you see?” “The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction,” said Leliana. “But we cannot wait. So many grand clerics died at the Conclave…no, we are on our own. Perhaps forever,” said Cassandra solemnly. Faolin took a moment to consider everything, and against her better judgment (again) she reluctantly agreed to stay. “We’ll see how this goes,” she said with a sigh. “That is all we ask,” said Leliana. “Help us fix this before it’s too late,” said Cassandra extending her hand out to her, and Faolin accepted.

He was in thought staring out over the valley. His hands clasped behind his back, the tails of his white cotton tunic swaying gently with the wind. She caught his attention as she walked out of the warm, fragrant apothecary back into the cold, crisp air. Her shoulder-length tresses, the color of undyed silk, tossed with the wind. Her skin was fair and her nose and cheeks flushed from the cold. “The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all,” he called to her with an amused smile. She met his gaze, and sauntered toward him, hands out at either side with a sheepish grin, “Am I riding in on a shining steed?” With a small huff he replied, “I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” She stood before him, her gloved hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes were bright in the sunlight, and he observed they were the color of the sea, with amber centers that seemed to burn like fire. Her left eye was adorned with a maroon-colored vallaslin for Sylaise, which he noticed was in fact hiding a vertical scar that cut through her brow. The left side of her head was shaven with a single braid of hair where her part would be, and there was a horizontal scar that curved over the top of her ear. She cleared her throat, and his eyes met hers. “Adan, the apothecary, said that Master Taigen, was working on something important before he died at the Conclave. He’s asked if I would take a look for his notes in his home just outside of town. Would you care to accompany me?” Solas nodded his head toward her, “Ma nuvenin.”

Outside of the town gates she pulled her hood up over her head as they stopped to look up at the Breach before heading north. They passed the soldiers training under Commander Cullen’s watchful eye, “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” he said casually strolling alongside her with his hands still clasped behind his back, “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be,” he said glancing at her. She looked at him curiously, “What do you mean ruins and battlefields?” “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.” She was impressed, “I’ve never heard of anyone going that deep into the Fade. That’s extraordinary.” “Thank you,” he said, “It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remains of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” The snow and dirt mixture crunched under their feet, and two nugs ran passed them squealing in play. She smiled at a thought, “I suppose to answer your earlier question, I would hopefully be the kind of hero who lives to become that embarrassing former hero everyone has to put up with.” He chuckled, “I can think of worse fates.”

Some silence passed between them as they turned left into the trees. The sounds of the soldiers all but drowned out by the sounds of the wind, and the birds. “I will stay then,” he finally spoke, “at least until the Breach has been closed.” She gave him an unsure look, “was that in doubt?” “I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces,” he looked at her, “and unlike you, I do not have a Divine mark protecting me.” He sighed, looking up at the trees, “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.” “You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you,” she reassured him. He looked at her again, “How would you stop them?” She furrowed her brow, “however I had to.” His face softened and he blinked several times at her, not accustomed to such kindness, “Thank you.” He looked ahead as they walked, “For now, let us hope that either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

They were coming up on a large rock on their right, and Faolin could the see lights of the cabin down the hill ahead of them. “I’d like to know more about you, Solas,” she said. He looked at her suspiciously, “why?” “You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition.” “Not the wisest course of action when framed that way,” he replied. “I appreciate the work you’re doing, Solas. I just wanted to know more about you.” He sighed. “I am sorry. With so much fear in the air…what would know of me?” “What made you start studying the Fade?” “I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.” He watched her as she pulled the hood back from her head; her fair hair and skin aglow in the sunlight, and he thought she was quite striking for a Dalish. “Did spirits try to tempt you?” His gaze on her lingered, “no more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it,” he looked away quickly as she glanced at him, “I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore.” She smirked and raised a brow, “I gather you didn’t spend your entire life dreaming.” “No, eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade.” “Why?” “Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting.” She looked at him in earnest, “is this why you joined the Inquisition?” He shook his head, “I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger. If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.”

They stopped in front of the cabin. The outside torches were still lit, and there were crates, barrels, and a log pile along the front. She turned to him with a smile, “I wish you luck,” she said sincerely. He nodded back at her, “Thank you.” Faolin reached into her coat pocket for the key. “In truth,” he said, “I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.” She worked the cold lock with the key, “How so?” He grinned slightly to himself, “You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit.” The lock clicked, and she paused with a hand on the knob. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.” She turned to look at him with a raised brow and smirk, “indomitable focus?” “Presumably,” he said escaping her gaze, “I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be…fascinating.” She opened the door, “hmmm.”

Inside the cabin, it was cold and dark. It had been days without a hearth fire, and the candles had melted to puddles of dried wax. They stood just inside the doorway, surveying the room. With the snap of her fingers, Faolin produced a steady flame from her right hand to provide some light. “Have you always traveled and studied alone?” He found a new candle in a drawer and lit it with her flame, “Not at all,” he replied. They split up to search the cabin for Master Taigen’s notes. “Spirits of wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen,” he continued, “Spirits of purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.” “I don’t know of any spirits by those names,” she replied. “They rarely seek this world. When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and purpose are too easily twisted to pride and desire.” She sifted through the desk drawer, “you’re saying that you became friends with pride and desire demons?” “They were not demons for me,” he said from the other room. She pushed the drawer shut, “meaning?” “The Fade reflects the minds of the living. If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt. And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends,” he explained, leaning in the doorway watching her. A pile of papers lay scattered on the desktop. She sorted through them, examining each, until she found what she was looking for and shoved the notes in her pocket. She looked at him curiously, “You trust these spirits not to possess you the first time you accidentally make a wish?” “Do you trust your friends not to turn on you?” She paused in the doorway next to him, “Well, yes, but they’re people,” she said looking up at him. A small huff, “ah, of course,” he retorted. She rolled her eyes at him then walked to the door, “you know what I mean!” Outside, she locked the door behind them and they made their way back to Haven. He looked at her as he spoke, “Are people only people because they are flesh and blood? Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?” She snorted at the idea of Varric’s chest hair which elicited a smile from him. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” she said looking at him, “but I see your point.” She humbled and surprised him. “I…ma serannas,” he looked at the ground as they walked, “Few are willing to entertain such a notion.”

They were walking past the tavern when he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, “Why were you there? At the Conclave,” he asked her in a hushed voice. She frowned and stared straight ahead, avoiding his face, “Why did your clan send you there?” After some seconds, she smiled up at him understandingly and reached up to rest her hand on his before gently prying it away. “You have an interesting way of the looking at the world, Solas,” she remarked as she climbed the steps. He followed behind her, “I try…and that isn’t quite an answer.” She glanced at him over her shoulder with a smile, “I look forward to helping you make new friends.” He stopped at the top of the steps, cheeks suddenly warm, unsure of what to say. “That should be…well.” She called back to him in a taunting voice, casually waving her hand out to her side as she sashayed away to the apothecary. “That isn’t quite an answer, either.”


	3. In Hushed Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations:
> 
> Nydha - Good night (informal)  
> On dhea - Good morning (formal)  
> Lethallan - Someone familiar (casual)  
> Hahren - Old, wise one  
> Da'len - Little/young one  
> Ea son - Are you well?  
> Falon - Friend  
> Ame te'son - I am alright  
> Vin, ame - Yes, I am  
> Ar’din nuvenin na’din, dathrasi - I don't want to kill you, pig-like animal (slur)  
> Dirthara-ma, ma emma harel - May you learn (curse), you should fear me

It was nightfall when they reached the Outskirts Camp, and a red-headed Dwarven woman greeted them eagerly. “The Herald of Andraste! I’ve heard stories,” she said as she ushered them into camp. “We know what you did at the Breach. It’s odd for a Dalish elf to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no back talk here. That’s a promise.” She led them to the fire in the main camp, and two tents were already set up, ready for their occupants. “Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I – all of us here – we’ll do whatever we can to help,” she said crossing her fist over her chest in salute. Cassandra, exhausted from the long journey, wasted no time claiming a tent, “We’ll take this one,” she declared in indication that she and Faolin would be bunking together. “Guess it’s you and me, Chuckles,” said Varric to Solas as he took a seat by the fire and pulled out a flask. Solas traded a glance with Faolin, “On nydha,” he said as he brushed open one of the flaps on the tent. “Nydha,” she replied taking a seat by the fire. “So,” Varric said taking a swig from his flask, “Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?” Lace looked at him peculiarly, “I can’t say I have. Why?” He smiled at her, “You’d be Harding in….oh, nevermind.” Cassandra made a sound of disgust from inside the tent. Faolin then asked her, “What’s the situation out here in the Hinterlands?” “We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster,” explained Lace, “I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herd was the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive. Mother Giselle’s at the Crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long.” Faolin slapped the tops of her knees as she stood up to turn in for the night, “We’ll head out in the morning.”

“I find the fall of the Dwarven lands confusing,” Solas said to Varric as they stood by the fire the next morning. “What’s so confusing about endless darkspawn?” “A great deal, although that is a different matter. Dwarves control the flow of lyrium. They could tighten their grip on it,” suggested Solas. “It’s hard to get the attention of the humans when the darkspawn aren’t up here messing with their stuff,” countered Varric. “You’re active in the Carta. You know your people could tug the purse strings. You could claim sovereign land on the surface, or demand help restoring the Dwarven kingdom, but you don’t.” Varric shook his head at him with a grin, “You’re not saying anything I haven’t said myself, Chuckles. Orzaaa…,” he trailed off suddenly distracted. Solas turned around to see what had stolen his attention, and saw Faolin stepping out of the tent wearing an Antaam-saar of halla leather, cotton, and white silk macramé that generously displayed her abdomen and back. His pulse quickened as his eyes fell from her face down her neck and chest to the curve of her waist and hips. He thought in white she emanated light and a sense of purity fitting of the supposed Herald of Andraste. She was unlike any Dalish he’d ever met with a preternatural beauty, but he sensed something else, an unknown darkness underneath: secrets and uninterpretable whispers. He felt a carnality in his loins, and cleared his throat, “On dhea, lethallan.” “On dhea,” she replied strolling toward them, “We’d better get moving.” He watched her as she sauntered passed them, his eyes trailed down from her hair to the curve of her spine, a tattoo he couldn’t make out under the macrame in between her shoulder blades, and finally rested on the back of her hips. He swallowed then did a double take at Varric who was looking up at him with a sheepish grin. “What?” “Oh…nothing,” said Varric chuckling as he walked away to catch up with her.

They spent almost an entire week in the Hinterlands, putting out fires, closing Rifts, and helping the refugees. They even managed to quell the fighting between the mages and templars, albeit temporarily. Mother Giselle would be joining them at the Chantry in Haven to provide for the sick and wounded, and Varric was the most pleased about acquiring the mounts and services of one Master Denett. “I was starting to think you were going to have to carry me on your back to Haven, Seeker,” he teased Cassandra. She grumbled loudly and rolled her eyes much to his amusement. They had also investigated a lead into a lone Gray Warden rumored to be living in the southern Hinterlands. Leliana was especially interested in what intel the Warden had regarding the recent disappearance of the other Wardens and if they were involved in the death of the Divine. They found Blackwall living southwest of the Upper Lake Camp, but he had no information about the other Gray Wardens or the explosion at the Conclave. He did; however, volunteer his services and pledged allegiance to the Inquisition. They accepted his offer, and he accompanied them back to Haven with the others.

A strapping young soldier was standing outside of the Chantry when Faolin finished the meeting in the War Room. “Excuse me,” he stopped her, “I’m here to speak with the Inquisition, but I’m having trouble getting anyone to talk to me,” he said. She had never seen him before, “Who are you, soldier?” ”Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant of the Bull’s Chargers,” he replied, “My boss is interested in joining the Inquisition.” “Tell me about this boss of yours,” said Faolin curiously. “Iron Bull? He’s one of them Qunari,” he said, “You know, with the horns? We take contracts, and we get the job done. If you’re interested, meet us on the Storm Coast and you can see us in action.” Faolin extended her hand to the soldier, “I look forward to meeting this Iron Bull.” He shook her hand, then departed for the main gate. She walked down the path from the Chantry toward the apothecary, bundled up in the coat from Harritt. “Good afternoon,” Solas said as he approached, “Hello,” she replied, smiling warmly. “I wondered if you might accompany me on another walk. I enjoyed our conversation before,” he said, “if you have time, that is.” “Of course,” she said.

They took a left at the main gate and made their way down the path toward the trebuchets. “You know, I’d be interested in hearing your opinions on elven culture,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. He scoffed a little, “I thought you would be more interested in sharing your opinions of elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?” She looked at him with a cheeky grin, “What’s your problem with the Dalish? Allergic to Halla?” “They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated a thousand times,” he replied bitterly. She threw her head back and laughed mockingly, “Oh! But you know the truth, right?” He looked at her sharply, “While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not.” She stopped, and few paces ahead of her; he stopped and turned to meet her eyes. Her face was calm, but he could see from where he stood the storm brewing in her sea-colored eyes, and he half-wondered if she would turn around and simply leave him there. “Ir abelas, hahren,” she finally spoke, “if the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right. What course would you set for them that is better than what they know now?” He smiled to himself, glancing at his feet. Clever, he thought. “You are right, of course,” he said finally as he narrowed the gap between them, eyes locked with hers. “The fault is mine…for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish.” He then offered her his arm, “Ir abelas, dalen. If there is any understanding I can offer, you have but to ask.” She tilted her head at him, smirking slightly, inspecting the arm he offered before taking it, “Tell me more about the elves from before our time,” she said as they resumed their stroll.

They reached the Storm Coast late morning. The air was damp and smelled of salt, there was a steady breeze, and the rain was ceaseless. ‘Been a long time since I was at sea,” remarked Blackwall staring out at the ocean from the cliff’s edge. “I expected more merchant ships. Recent events must have put a hold on trading,” Solas posited. Blackwall turned to him, clearing his throat, “Solas, I have a question, and it’s probably going to earn me a fireball to the face.” Solas gave him an inquisitive look, “But you’re going to grit your teeth and work through it?” “You make friends with spirits in the Fade. So…um, are there any that are,” he lowered his voice, “more than just friends?” Solas stared at him blankly, and there was an awkward silence. “If you know what--,” Blackwall started to say before being cut off. “Oh, for….really?!” “Look, it’s a natural thing to be curious about!” “For a twelve-year-old!” “It’s a simple yes or no question!” Solas sighed, “Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that.” Blackwall erupted, “Aha! So you do have experience in these matters!” Solas groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his closed eyes, “I did not say that.” Blackwall patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t panic. It’ll be our little secret.” “What will be your little secret?” They both startled at her voice, and Blackwall fumbled for a response. Her fair skin glistened from the rain in her drenched Antaam-saar, her hair soaked as raindrops rolled off her shoulders down her arms. “It is nothing,” said Solas feeling his cheeks hot, “He was merely asking about-“, Blackwall interrupted, “His baldness.” Solas cringed and sighed, “Yes…that.” Faolin squinted suspiciously at them, “Mhmm, well, we should head to down to the beach. I doubt the Qunari and his men will wait on us forever.” She started for the path to the shore, the two of them trailing behind her. “Ass,” mumbled Solas. Blackwall chuckled, “Now who’s twelve?”

The mercenaries were finishing up their assault on a group of bandits when they reached the shore. “Chargers! Stand down,” called the Qunari to his men, “Krem, how’d we do?” Faolin recognized the soldier from before in Haven, “Five or six wounded, chief. No dead,” he reported. “That’s what I like to hear. Let the throat-cutters finish up then break out the casks.” Krem nodded in affirmation then set off to delegate orders. The Qunari turned his attention to Faolin approaching him, “So you’re with Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming,” he gestured to some nearby driftwood. “Iron Bull, I presume,” she said. “Yeah the horns usually give it away,” he replied. The Qunari took a seat while Faolin stood with Blackwall and Solas at her flanks. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant,” he gestured at Krem rejoining them. “Good to see you again,” he said, “the throat-cutters are done, chief.” “Already? Check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense,” he said with a small chuckle. “None taken,” shrugged Krem, “Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

“So you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it…and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us,” said The Bull getting down to business. She folded her arms across her chest, “How much is this going to cost me, exactly?” “Wouldn’t cost you anything personally, unless you wanna buy drinks later,” he replied, “Your ambassador—what’s her name—Josephine? We’d go through her and get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.” “The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” she said relaxing a little. “They are, but you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me,” he boasted. “You need a front line bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is—demons, dragons? The bigger, the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off.” She cocked her head to the side, giving him a look. “Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?” “They’re a Qunari organization, right? The equivalent of their guards and city watch?” “I’d go closer to spies,” said The Bull, “but yeah, that’s them…or…well…us. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening, but I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.” She shifted her weight and crossed her arms again, “What would you send home in these reports of yours?” “Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.” She shook her head in disbelief, “You’re a Qunari spy, and you just…told me?” “Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.” “You still could have hidden what you are,” she said. “From something called the Inquisition? I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.” “What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?” “Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put’em to good use.” She squinted at him, “She?” The Bull chuckled, “I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.” Blackwall snorted. Faolin took a step forward, squaring up, voice ominous, “You run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, or if your reports compromise the Inquisition, Cassandra will eat you alive.” “Hmm,” Solas smirked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” replied The Bull coolly. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” “What about the casks, chief? We just opened them up…with axes,” said Krem annoyed. “Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.” Krem huffed and waved him off. “We’ll meet you back in Haven,” said Iron Bull.

“The city still mourns,” said Cassandra, as they approached the gates of Val Royeaux. Faolin was taking it all in, the sights, the smells, the sounds. A couple casually strolling by cowered at the sight of them. “Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are,” remarked Varric. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” said Cassandra cynically. An Inquisition scout greeted them at the gates, taking a knee, “My lady Herald,” she said. “You’re one of Leliana’s people,” said Cassandra, “what have you found?” “The Chantry mothers await you,” the scout stood, “but so do a great many Templars.” Cassandra looked confused, “there are Templars here?” “People seem to think the Templars will protect them from…from the Inquisition,” explained the scout, “they’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.” “Only one thing to do then,” declared Cassandra as they entered the city. She was offended by this, “they wish to protect the people? From us?” “Protect them from the blasphemous Herald of Andraste, I’d say,” Faolin sassed. The scout gasped, “Surely they cannot think such a thing!” “Why not? They wouldn’t be the only ones,” shrugged Faolin. Varric speculated, “Do you think the Order’s returned to the fold, maybe? To deal with us upstarts?” “I know Lord Seeker Lucius,” said Cassandra, “I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that’s occurred.” “So the potential for trouble has increased twofold,” sighed Faolin. “Perhaps,” said Cassandra, “return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are…delayed.” “As you say my, Lady,” said the scout taking her leave.

Revered Mother Hevara stood upon a stage with three Chantry clergy, surrounded by Templar guards. A crowd of people had formed around the stage, and there was much chatter. “Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together, we mourn our Divine,” said Hevara, “Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold! The so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need.” The crowd volume suddenly grew, angry voices booed and shunned her, standing next to Cassandra in the back. Solas watched apprehensively from the shadows. As an apostate he didn’t want a confrontation with the Templars, and he was beginning to worry for their safety with the mob of angry citizens. Something caught his eye. He watched Faolin in the midst of rising tensions, and noticed her right hand balled up in a fist at her side. His eyes widened at the sight of the small flames licking out from between her fingers. “Don’t,” he whispered. Her hand quivered, clenched tighter, flames reaching out of the cage of her fingers. “Satha,” he pleaded under his breath. Her hand suddenly relaxed, the flames extinguished, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Enough! I will not listen to these self-serving lies! We came here to talk!” The crowd quieted down, and Cassandra backed her up. “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!” Hevara pointed stage-left, “It is already too late!” A squad of Templars approached, Solas gripped his staff shrinking further into the shadows. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this “Inquisition”, and the people will be safe once more!” As the Templars crossed the stage, one suddenly punched Hevara in the face. She cried out as she fell to the ground. Gasps of horror echoed from the crowd. A young Templar started to reach for the Mother, but was stopped by the Lord Seeker. “Still yourself,” he growled, “she is beneath us.”

Faolin stepped toward the stage, “What’s the meaning of this?” “Her claim to authority is an insult,” he glared down at her, “much like your own.” “Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra called to him, “it’s imperative that we speak with—“, he cut her off, “You will not address me.” He stepped down from the stage to join the other Templars. Cassandra followed, “Lord Seeker?” “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.” Faolin scowled, “If you’re not here to help the Chantry, then you just came to make speeches?” “I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh,” he mocked, the other Templars laughing. “But Lord Seeker,” interrupted the young Templar, “what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if-“, an officer silenced him, “You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!” “I will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition…less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” And with that, the Templars abandoned the capital.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he,” said Varric. Solas reemerged from the shadows to join them. Cassandra shook her head in disbelief, “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” “We’ll find another way,” said Faolin staring a hole in the back of the Lord Seeker’s head as he grew further away. “I wouldn’t write them off so quickly,” said Cassandra, “there must be those in the Order who see what he’s become.” “A self-inflated piece of shit,” muttered Faolin, and Varric snickered. Cassandra signed, “Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.” Suddenly, an arrow whistled by hitting the ground feet away from them. Cassandra gasped, “Oh! What’s that? An arrow with a message?” Faolin knelt down and picked up the arrow, she unrolled the message and read it aloud:

PEOPLE SAY YOU’RE SPECIAL. I WANT TO HELP, AND I CAN BRING EVERYONE.

THERE’S A BADDIE IN VAL ROYEAUX. I HEAR HE WANTS TO HURT YOU.

HAVE A SEARCH FOR THE RED THINGS IN THE MARKET, THE DOCKS, AND ‘ROUND THE CAFÉ,

AND MAYBE YOU’LL MEET HIM FIRST. BRING SWORDS.

FRIENDS OF RED JENNY

She refolded the note, looking up at the others. A mage in Circle robes then approached her, “Excuse me, are you with the Inquisition?” She nodded at the mage as he handed her an envelope. “An invitation from Madame Vivienne de Fer, the First Enchanter,” he explained then bowed before walking away. “Someone’s popular,” remarked Varric. Faolin opened the envelope and read the invitation:

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO ATTEND MY SALON

HELD AT THE CHATEAU OF DUKE BASTIEN DE GHISLAIN.

YOURS,

VIVIENNE DE FER

FIRST ENCHANTER OF MONSTIMMARD

ENCHANTER TO THE IMPERIAL COURT

Faolin placed the folded note in the envelope with the invitation, “I’d like to follow up on these,” she said. “We really should return to Haven,” insisted Cassandra. “Then I’ll stay,” argued Faolin, “You can return to Haven.” Cassandra frowned, “It’s too risk-“, Varric cut in, “She’ll be fine, Seeker.” Cassandra sighed, “Fine. But not alone,” she relented. “I will stay,” said Solas clasping his hands behind his back. “Great idea,” said Varric cheekily, to which Cassandra made a disgusted sound. “Come,” said Faolin, “we’ll walk you to the gate.”

They were seeing them off when an elven woman in Circle robes approached them. “If I might have a moment of your time?” Cassandra addressed her, “Grand Enchanter Fiona?” “Leader of the Mage rebellion” Solas chimed in, “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” “I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.” “I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave,” Faolin said suspiciously. “Yes. You were supposed to be, and yet somehow you avoided death,” added Cassandra. “As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think that the Templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them,” said Fiona. Faolin squinted at her,” so you think the Templars are responsible?” Cassandra scoffed, “why wouldn’t she?” “Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses, if he’s concerned about them at all. You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us? So yes, I think he did it. More than I think you did it, at any rate,” Fiona countered. “The mages weren’t willing to talk to the Inquisition before,” said Faolin, “why now?” “Because now I’ve seen what you are,” said Fiona, “and I’ve seen the Chantry for what it is. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my lady Herald.” “Come on, Varric,” said Cassandra, “let us return to Haven.”

They strolled around the city collecting the red handkerchiefs dropped by their mysterious friend, and she had been quiet since Cassandra and Varric departed. She seemed preoccupied as she clasped the balcony with both hands, leaning over to look down at the market. He rest his hand on her shoulder, “Ea son, falon?” He had seen that look before, in Haven, when he asked her about the Conclave and why her clan had sent her. She finally looked at him, and smiled reluctantly, “Ame te’son.” Her face was calm, but something lingered. “I’ve never been to Val Royeaux,” she changed the subject as they continued their stroll. “The market was once nothing but tents of oiled leather and mud,” he said, “filled with ragged humans selling strings of beads made of bone.” She asked, “You saw this in the Fade?” “Yes,” he replied, “I left that memory quickly. The smell,” he cringed. “That must have been ages ago,” she said. “Oh yes! It is much better now,” he exclaimed, “I enjoy the frilly cakes,” he said in amusement as they entered the cafe. She looked at him surprised, “I have a hard time envisioning you eating cake.” “Now you won’t have to,” he said turning with two petit fours. He placed the tiny blue cake topped with a gold fondant flower in her hand before eating his in one bite with exaggerated pleasure, “Mmm! Mmm!” She smiled and bit her lip. “Well,” he said finally, waiting for her to eat hers. She rolled her eyes, followed suit, and put the whole cake in her mouth, sucking her thumb and index finger as she pulled them back out. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile as she chewed. He grinned sheepishly, “better?” She nodded covering her mouth full of cake. “Good,” he said.

They arrived at Duke Bastien’s Chateau in the early evening. With the events of the day, there hadn’t been time to acquire fancier attire, but she still looked sophisticated in her long white enchanter coat with matching gloves and boots while Solas wore dark apprentice mail. They were surrounded by men and women in fancy suits, hats, and embroidered dresses with shiny masquerade masks. “Lady Lavellan and guest representing the Inquisition,” announced the greeter. They stood in the center of the drawing room, surveying the room and waiting for the First Enchanter. ‘A pleasure, my lady, we so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new,” said a couple approaching them, “it is always the same crowd at these parties.” Solas touched her elbow, nodding as he stepped away, likely for wine. The man continued, “So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer, or are you here for Duke Bastien?” “Are you here on business? I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true,” the lady spoke. “Some of those storytellers may have gotten carried away,” insisted Faolin humbly. “But only for the best effect,” countered the lady, “the Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales.”

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit!” Faolin turned sharply to see a masked man descending the staircase. “Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously,” he said crossing the foyer towards her. Solas set the glasses back down, watching the man. “Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power,” declared the man. “I’ve never made any claims to holiness,” refuted Faolin, “what’s your point?” He scoffed, “In front of all these people, you admit to being a pretentious usurper!” The man approached her, less than arms-length close. “We know what your ‘Inquisition’ truly is,” he said portentously, Solas started taking slow steps toward them. The man’s face was in hers, “If you were a woman of honor, you’d step outside and answer the charges,” he hissed as he grabbed the hilt of his dagger. Solas quickly reached for his staff behind him, but the man was suddenly frozen in place with ice magic.

“My dear marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house…to my guests,” chided an extravagantly dressed woman strutting down the stairs. “You know such rudeness is…intolerable,” she said approaching him. “Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon,” the marquis stammered in his thick layer of frost. “You should,” said Vivienne, “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” She looked at Faolin over her shoulder with a hand on the marquis’ neck, “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?” Faolin stared at the marquis with a raised brow and the corner of her bottom lip curled slightly. Solas noticed a glint in her eye, the storm churning with a fiery center. For a moment, he thought she might have him killed, but her stance and expression suddenly relaxed a bit, “The marquis doesn’t interest me. Do whatever you like with him,” said Faolin with a dismissive wave of her arm. “Poor marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Ferelden dog lord,” said Vivienne with a snap of her fingers. The man coughed as he thawed. “And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet,” she mocked him, “Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning…and you’re still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel, or did you think her staff would end the shame of your failure?” The marquis lowered his head. “Run along my dear,” said Vivienne, “do give my regards to your aunt.” With slumped shoulders the man made for the doors. Vivienne turned to address Faolin, “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering,” she gushed, “I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

Vivienne poured them each a glass of wine in a large, windowed parlor off the drawing room. Solas sipped from his glass and reserved himself by a window, staring out over the courtyard. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.” “Your salon has certainly exceeded my expectations so far,” smirked Faolin. “I’m glad to keep you entertained, my dear,” smiled Vivienne, “I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles, but the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.” Faolin took a sip from her glass, “What exactly can you do for the Inquisition?” “I am well-versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I have all the remaining resources of the Circle at my disposal, and I am a mage of no small talent. Will that do?” “Does that mean you’d be aiding the Inquisition from the Imperial Palace?” “Ordinarily, I would be happy to serve as liaison to the court, but these are not ordinary times. The Veil has been ripped apart, and there is a hole in the sky. It is now the duty of every mage to work toward sealing the Breach, and so I would join the Inquisition on the field of battle,” replied Vivienne. “You say you led the last of the loyal mages,” inquired Faolin, “loyal to whom?” “To the people of Thedas, of course,” said Vivienne. “Hmm,” Solas mumbled. “We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man,” she said, half-directed at him, “I support any effort to restore such order,” she continued. “So you’re in favor of returning the mages to the Circle, then?” “Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own,” stated Vivienne. Faolin tilted her head at her, “So what’s in it for you?” “The same thing anyone gets by fighting this chaos: the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I won’t wait quietly for destruction.” Faolin raised her glass to Vivienne, “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne,” she said. “Great things are beginning, my dear,” beamed Vivienne as she touched her glass to Faolin's, “I can promise you that.”

The full moon was bright, illuminating their walk through empty streets and alleyways of the capital in search of the man mentioned in the stranger’s letter. The air permeated with the smell of fragrant climbing flowers, the sound of distant music, and dogs barking from different corners of the city. She stopped and leaned against a wall for a moment to take a deep breath, exhilarated by these new yet familiar surroundings, feeling the wine she had at the salon. He looked at her curiously, “Ea son?” She laughed at herself, “Vin, ame,” her eyes met his and he smiled. “Before, you said you travelled to many different places,” she said. “This world, or its memory, is reflected in the Fade,” he explained as he slowly meandered toward her, “Dream in ancient ruins, and you may see a city lost to history. Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities long picked dry by treasure seekers.” She leaned her head back against the wall and tucked her hands behind her. “The best are the battlefields,” he said softly with merely inches between them, “Spirits press so tightly on the Veil that you can slip across with but a thought,” he gestured with his hand and watched as the amber centers of her eyes burned a little brighter. She tilted her head, “Any place in particular?” “I dreamt at Ostagar,” he replied, “I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Ferelden warriors. I saw Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden light the signal fire…and Loghain’s infamous betrayal of Cailan’s forces.” “I’ve heard stories, but it would be interesting to hear what it was really like,” she said. “That’s just it,” he shook his head, “In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.” “And you can’t tell which is real?” He studied her face, stealing quick glances at her slightly parted lips. He sighed and steeled himself, regretfully, and swept a strand of hair from her face, “It is the Fade. They are all real,” he said quietly.

A loud wolf-whistle startled them, as a group of men surrounded them. “That’s a nice-looking rabbit,” one of them catcalled her, and the others laughed. “Don’t let us interrupt, knife ear,” another quipped, “it was just getting good.” Two others made moaning and groaning sounds in imitation of a couple during sex while the others roared with laughter. She furrowed her brow and her hands ignited in flames. He gently grabbed her forearms, “No, falon,” he said, looking at her remorsefully, though she could see he was angry; his eyes were darker than before. He scowled turning to face them, while shielding her between himself and the wall. “Ar’din nuvenin na’din, dathrasi,” he growled at them as they drew their weapons, “but I will,” he smirked. “Come on, flat ear! She doesn’t have all night!” They cackled moving in on them. “Dirthara-ma, ma emma harel,” he said coldly. In rapid succession Solas pulled his staff from his back, cast a green glyph on the ground that exploded into a small Rift which pulled the men toward it like a vacuum. The intensity of the pull from the Rift drew her from the wall and into his back. “Uggghhh,” she grimaced as her ears popped, and she gripped his waist and buried her face in between his shoulder blades. Solas spun his staff over his head, then slammed it onto the ground. The men collectively froze solid before exploding into a gory, icy mess onto the ground, and the Rift disappeared. She gasped, breathing heavy onto his back, sending chills up his neck. 

As he turned to face her, a bright ball of fire came hurling towards them, he quickly pulled her into his chest and threw up a barrier to deflect it. A man in a masquerade mask and fancy suit appeared, “Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!” Solas glared at the man with his staff in hand as she pulled away from him, brushing her hair back out of her face. “I don’t know who you are,” she squinted at him. “You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!” “Just say ‘what!” An elven woman with an arrow drawn on him suddenly emerged from the shadows. “What is the—“, but before he could finish she sent the arrow straight through his face. The elf cringed, “Eww!” “Squishy one,” she said approaching his body, "but you heard me, right? Just say, ‘What’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. She knelt down to retrieve the arrow from his face, ‘Blah blah blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!’” Solas holstered his staff as he and Faolin approached her. “So, you followed the notes well enough, Glad to see you’re….and you’re an elf,” she said disappointed, “well let’s hope you’re not too…elfy. I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the Herald thingy?” “They say that,” Faolin said, “but who are you, and what’s this about?” “No idea,” shrugged the elf, “I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.” “Your people? Elves?” “Ha! No. People people. So, Hereald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.” Faolin folded her arms over her chest, “How about we get to know each other first? You know, names and such?” “Here, in your face, I’m Sera. ‘The Friends of Red Jenny’ are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows. Look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?” “Alright, Sera. I can use you and your ‘Friends’,” said Faolin. “Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like,” said Sera excitedly, “Anyway, Haven. See you there, Herald. This will be grand.”

Varric holstered Bianca over his shoulder, “I think we could have skipped these things getting weirder, don’t you?” “None of my reports indicated temporal distortions near these rifts. Interesting,” said Vivienne. “That rift altered the flow of time around itself. That is…unexpected,” added Solas. “Something's not right,” said Faolin, “stay on your guard.” An Inquisition scout greeted them as they entered the gates of Redcliffe, “We’ve spread word that the Inquisition was coming, but you should know no one here was expecting us.” Faolin was confused, “No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?” The scout shook his head, “If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.” An elf then trotted up to them, “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.” “The Veil is weaker here than in Haven,” observed Solas, “And not merely weak, but altered in a way I have not seen.” “We must speak with Fiona at once,” said Vivienne gravely.

The former Grand Enchanter greeted them as they entered the Gull & Lantern. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition. First Enchanter Vivienne.” “My dear, Fiona. It’s been so long since we last spoke,” said Vivienne, “You look dreadful! Are you sleeping well?” “What has brought you to Redcliffe?” Faolin scoffed, “Is this some sort of test? We’re here because you invited us in Val Royeaux.” She shook her head, “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave,” insisted Fiona. “Well, that’s very strange,” said Faolin, “because someone who looked exactly like you spoke to me in Val Royeaux.” “Whoever…or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium,” explained Fiona. “Andraste’s ass,” Varric exclaimed, “I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done, and I’ve got nothing.” “I understand that you are afraid,” empathized Solas, “but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.” “Fiona dear, your dementia is showing,” added Vivienne callously. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you,” she said regretfully. “An alliance with Tevinter is a terrible mistake,” warned Faolin.

“Welcome, my friends!” The door to the tavern slammed, and two men in Tevinter garb approached them. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” He stood before Faolin, closer than she would like. “The southern mages are under my command,” he told her, “and you...are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting,” he said looking her up and down. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and her shoulder blades tensed. “I haven’t seen any sign of Redcliffe’s arl or his men,” said Faolin suspiciously. “The arl of Redcliffe left the village,” said Alexius. “’Left.’ That’s a polite way of saying ‘thrown out on his ass’" scoffed Varric. “There were…tensions growing,” said Alexius, “I did not want an incident.” “You’re quite a long way from Tevinter, Alexius,” said Faolin. “Indeed I am, though, I have heard you are no Ferelden either. It seems we are both strangers here,” he countered. She begrudgingly took a seat across from him at a table. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends.” The young man bowed and left.

Upon his return, the young man seemed off-balance and staggering. Alexius looked concerned, “Felix?” Faolin rose from her chair, and barely caught the lad in time before he fell face-first into the table. She felt a hand in her waist pocket, and helped him back to his feet. “My lady! I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he said to her. Alexius reached for him, “Are you alright?” "I’m fine, father,” Felix shrugged him off. “Come, I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle,” ordered Alexius as they left the tavern. Faolin reached into her pocket and unrolled a note, Solas moved to her side to read it with her: 

COME TO THE CHANTRY. YOU ARE IN DANGER.

“The note is unsigned,” he said, “the boy feared his father might retrieve it.” “Oh, very interesting,” exclaimed Varric intriguingly.

In the Chantry they encountered a rather dashing mage who was disposing of two shades, and another rift. “Good! You’re finally here,” said the mage, “Now help me close this, would you?” The five of them together made quick work of the demons, and Faolin closed the rift. “Fascinating,” said the mage, “how does that work, exactly?” She stared at him blankly, catching her breath. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes,” he said. She squinted at him, “Who are you?” “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” “Let one Tevinter in, suddenly they’re scurrying out of the walls like cockroaches,” scowled Vivienne. Faolin backed away from him slightly. “Now, now, I’m ever so much more handsome than a cockroach,” said Dorian, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable—as I’m sure you can imagine.” “I was expecting Felix,” said Faolin. “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father,” explained Dorian. "Is there something wrong with Felix?" “He’s had some lingering illness for months. He is an only child, and Alexius is being a mother hen, most likely,” said Dorian. She bit her lip nervously, “Are you a magister?” He rolled his eyes, “Alright, let’s say this once,” he replied, “I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium.”

“You're the one who sent the note, then?” “I am. Someone had to warn you, after all. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.” “He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died” said Faolin understanding the situation. “You catch on quick,” said Dorian. “That is fascinating if true,” said Solas, “and almost certainly dangerous.” “The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it. And they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.” “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith,” she said. “I know what I’m talking about,” Dorian insisted, “I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” entered Felix, “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.” Faolin tilted her head at him, “Why would he rearrange time and indenture the mage rebellion just to get to me?” “They’re obsessed with you,” explained Felix, “but I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” “You can close the rifts. Maybe there’s a connection, or they see you as a threat,” posited Dorian. “All this for me? And here I didn’t get Alexius anything,” said Faolin bitterly. ‘Send him a fruit basket,” said Dorian with a smirk, “everyone loves those. You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”


	4. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations:
> 
> Ra's ma - It is you  
> Halam’shivanas - The sacrifice of duty  
> Sule tael tasalal - Until we meet again  
> Sule melan’an - Until then  
> Fen ju vena isa arlise - The wolf will find his hearth  
> Ha'fen - Old wolf
> 
> Fintan is a name from Irish mythology meaning "white fire".

Cullen slammed his fist on the War Room table, “We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars!” “Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” argued Cassandra, “this cannot be allowed to stand.” “The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name,” said Josephine, “it’s an obvious trap.” Faolin folded her arms over her chest with a smirk, “Isn’t that kind of him. What does Alexius say about me?” “He so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you,” Leliana replied plainly. Josephine rolled her eyes, “not this again.” “Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden, it has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there…” Cullen paused staring at her, “you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these Rifts. I won’t allow it,” he said shaking his head and waving his arm adamantly. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” countered Leliana. “The magister—“, started Cassandra, “has outplayed us,” finished Cullen. “We cannot accept defeat now,” she insisted, “There must be a solution!” “Wait, there is a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through,” suggested Leliana. “Too risky,” said Cullen, “those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.” “That’s why we need a distraction,” explained Leliana, “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?” “Focus their attention on Lavellan while we take out the Tevinters,” he said rubbing his chin, “it’s risky, but it could work.” The war room door flew open, “Fortunately, you’ll have help,” said Dorian strolling in, “your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.” Cullen sighed looking at Faolin with concern, “the plan puts you in the most danger. I…we can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.” After a long pause, Faolin furrowed her brow, “We’re doing this,” she said coolly as she turned to leave the room with Dorian behind her.

They were received by two Venatori guards and a young man upon entering the castle. “Announce us,” ordered Faolin of the young man. “The magister’s invitation was for Mistress Lavellan alone. The rest will wait here,” he said. “Where I go, they go,” she stated coldly. After a brief standoff, the young man finally relented and escorted them along with the Venatori to the throne room where Alexius sat in waiting. “My lord magister,” announced the young man, “the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.” Alexius rose from the arl’s chair, “My friend! It’s so good to see you again.” He descended the stairs toward her, “And your associates, of course,” he added, gesturing to Solas and Blackwall, “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties,” he said. Fiona joined Faolin and the others at the foot of the steps, “Are we mages to have no say in deciding our fate?” “Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” replied Alexius. “The grand enchanter will attend as a guest of the Inquisition,” declared Faolin. “Thank you,” Fiona nodded. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them,” he said, “So, what shall you offer in exchange?” Faolin smirked at him, “Nothing at all. I’m taking the mages and leaving.” “The southern mages are now indentured to the Tevinter Imperium,” he replied smugly, “how do you anticipate you’ll accomplish this feat?” “However I can,” she threatened. “She knows everything, father,” Felix interrupted behind him. Alexius turned and glared at him, “Felix, what have you done?” “You wanted me here,” said Faolin, “why?” Alexius slowly walked around her, “Do you know what you are? Hmm? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark—a gift you don’t even understand,” she flinched hard when he reached out and placed his hand between her shoulder blades with a pleased grin, “and think you’re in control?” Solas glared at him as Blackwall growled, “Take ya hand off’er.” Alexius pulled back with a smirk, “You’re nothing but a mistake,” he whispered in her face. She clenched her jaw in anger, “If I’m a mistake, what exactly was the Breach supposed to accomplish?“ He ascended the stairs, “It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One,” he turned to face them at the top, “For this World!” Felix stepped towards him, “Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” said Dorian appearing from the shadows. “Dorian,” Alexius scowled, “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes. He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.” Fiona yelled out, “You can’t involve my people in this!” “Alexius,” said Dorian in attempt to reason with him, “this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen! Why would you support this?” “Stop it, father! Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.” “No it’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!” “Save me?” “There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple….” Felix cut him off, “I’m going to die. You need to accept that.” “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life,” commanded Alexius. Sounds of grunting, slicing, and bodies hitting the floor followed as the Inquisition agents cut down the Venatori one by one. “Your men are dead, Alexius,” Faolin sneered. He roared down at her, “You…are a mistake! You never should have existed!” He held out his hand in front of him producing a glowing amulet buzzing with magical energy. Dorian quickly tried to disarm him, “No!” His counter-spell failed, creating an explosion from the amulet that opened a rift, disintegrated both Faolin and Dorian right before their eyes. “Faolin!” Solas reached for her, instead falling to his hands and knees, grasping at the ashes that lay before him on the floor. “No,” he whispered, his chest hurt as his fingers sifted through the ashes. The castle doors rumbled open and a large number of Venatori poured into the throne room. He found something, a metal ring, and quickly stuffed it into his pocket as he stood readying his staff. Blackwall drew his claymore, nodding at Solas and Fiona. They fought for nearly an hour with everything they had, but the Venatori overran them with force and numbers. “Seize them,” hissed Alexius, “throw them in the cells, let them never forget what happened here.” As the Venatori dragged them off, over his shoulder, Solas took one last look. 

“Blood of the Elder One! Where’d they come from?” Two Venatori drew their swords and charged for them. Dorian helped her to her feet, and they quickly disposed of the zealots. Dorian holstered his staff, catching his breath, “Displacement? Interesting!” Faolin rinsed the blood off her hands with the water in which they stood. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended”, Dorian continued, “The Rift must have moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?” “The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall,” she said confused. “Let’s see, if we’re still in the castle, it isn’t….” Dorian contemplated, “Oh! Of course! It’s not simply where—it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!” “Did we move forward or backward in time and how far?” “Those are excellent questions,” he replied, “let’s look around, see where the Rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back…if we can.” She looked worried, “And if we can’t find a way back?” “Then we get comfortable in our new present,” he said somberly.

She picked the prison key off one of the dead zealots, and they started working their way through the flooded corridors. “The others! In the hall,” she exclaimed, “could they have been drawn through the Rift, too?” “I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through,” said Dorian, “Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They’re probably still where, and when, we left them. In some sense, anyway.” “What was Alexius trying to do?” “I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely,” said Dorian, “if that happened, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes or mangled his Elder One’s plan. I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the Rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are. Make sense?” She shook her head, “it just seems so insane.” “I don’t even want to think about what this will do to the fabric of the world,” said Dorian, “We didn’t travel through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it in the privy. But don’t worry. I’m here, I’ll protect you,” he said with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

He gawked at their surroundings, “Alexius has made a dreadful mess of this place, hasn’t he?” The air was dense with dark, foul magic, and it was hard to breathe. A fiery glow illuminated the red lyrium-infested walls and ceilings. She hoped the others had not come through to this horrible place. They ascended some stairs and came to a large open room with cells on both sides, water falling from the ceiling, and unexpectedly heard singing. “Andraste blessed me, Andraste blessed me…my tears are my sins, my sins, my sins…Andraste guide me, Andraste guide me…” Faolin suddenly felt ill as she walked over to the elven mage behind the bars. “Lysas! Do you remember me? What have they done to you?” “Andraste blessed me, Andraste blessed me,” he continued singing as if in a trance. An overwhelming sadness found her as she felt her eyes begin to water. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him as Dorian placed a hand on her back, “Come on,” he ushered her gently. They climbed more stairs and took out two more Venatori before reaching another hall of cell rooms.

She opened one of the doors, and stepped inside, “Is someone there?” She froze. “No,” she whispered, then ran down to the end of the cell block. His back was turned to her as he stood against the wall, staring down at his hands in front of him. “No, ra’s ma,” she gasped. He lifted his head at the sound of her voice, and turned, “Faolin?” She felt her heart shatter as she grasped the bars. His eyes glowed red with dark circles under them, his skin pale, and his cheeks were gaunt. He stepped back startled, eyes widened in disbelief, “You’re alive? I…” he choked on his words, “I watched you die.” “The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time,” Dorian explained nonchalantly, “we just got here, so to speak.” She clasped her hand over her mouth as she sank to the floor. Solas hurried over to her and knelt down, his hand grasping hers on the bar. “Oh,” muttered Dorian, feeling intrusive, as he cleared his throat and stepped away. He lifted her chin and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Ir abelas,” she said shakily. He wrinkled his brow and shook his head, “Lethallan,” he said calmly, “this is isn’t your fault.” He took her other hand and helped her to her feet as Dorian unlocked the cell door. “Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year! It may not be too late! If you can undo this, they can all be saved!” exclaimed Solas. “You understand what has happened…” she said. “You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong. You know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand. Alexius served a master, the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene and used the chaos to invade the South. This Elder One commands an army of demons. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.” “We can’t do this without you,” she said. “If there is any hope, any way to save them…my life is yours. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass,” he said.

Dorian stood somberly over Alexius’ body in the throne room as the others caught their breath. “He wanted to die, didn’t he?” Those lies he told himself. The justifications. He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius. Once he was a man to whom I compared all others,” reflected Dorian, “sad isn’t it?” He held the amulet out in front of him, “This is the same amulet,” he said, “I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief! Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to reopen the Rift.” “An hour?” Leliana exclaimed, ‘That’s impossible! You must go now!” The ground began to shake, stone and debris fell from the ceiling with the sounds of demons and darkspawn echoing outside the castle. Solas and Blackwall looked at one another in silence then nodded. “We’ll hold the outer door. When they get past us, it will be your turn,” said Solas to Leliana as he and Blackwall turned to leave. “No!” Faolin ran to him, grabbing his arm, “You can’t go! I won’t let you commit suicide,” she contended, her eyes welling up. He looked at her caringly, “Look at me,” he said, “I’m already dead, falon.” “Please,” she begged as tears rolled down her cheeks, “don’t go.” He pulled her in to a hug, “Halam’shivanas,” he said, “Go back. The only way we live is if this day never comes.” She nodded her head under his chin. He whispered something into her ear before pulling away, then nodded at Blackwall “Sule tael tasalal,” he said to her over his shoulder. She watched as the doors closed behind them, “Sule melan’an,” she whispered. “Cast your spell,” Leliana said to Dorian, “you have as much time as I have arrows.”

She awoke to a warm, soft bed, sounds of a crackling hearth fire, howling wind through window seams, and dogs barking off in the distance. Haven. She sat up with a groan, pulling the covers back to sit on the edge of the bed, her linen slip a wrinkled mess around her thighs. “You’re awake,” Solas startled her from across the room. He stood, laying his book down in the chair behind him. “And here I was beginning to think you might sle—“, he stopped as he approached her. “Lethallan?” She stared up at him from the bed with tears streaming down her face, “You died,” she finally said dolefully. Her fair, wavy locks a mess around her sun-kissed shoulders, eyes wild -- she was disoriented, he realized, as he stood over her, brows creased with concern. “A whole year! Caged like some rabid wolf…” she sobbed, “Sickness. The Red Lyrium. It was--“, he took her face into his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “A terrible reality that will never come to fruition,” he reassured her in a calm voice. He recoiled with a hiss when she suddenly grabbed his wrists, nails scratching his skin as she dragged them down away from her face. She rose from the bed, sealing the space between them, screaming, “But it could, couldn’t it? It did! It was--horrifying! The world--there was nothing--no one left! No one! You--” Her nostrils flared with her hard breathing, the tip of her nose grazing his chin, and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against him. Little beads of sweat on her forehead; she had jumped up too quickly.

Her eyes flickered shut, tears seeped out of their corners and rolled down her neck to her chest as her head fell back limply. Her knees buckled as she started to slump towards the floor, but he caught her around her ribs with his arm, and his other hand on the small of her back. He held her there for a moment, staring down at her, wordless. He reached down, scooping her thighs into his arms to lift her. She moaned as he gently laid her down on the bed, and sat next to her. She rolled to her side, turning her back to him, and his eyes widened when he realized the tattoo in between her shoulder blades was instead scarification. “Faolin…” he gasped in dismay. He traced it softly with his fingertips, navigating its design: a dragon intertwined with a snake. She stirred at his touch, “Fen ju vena isa arlise,” she slurred in a muffled whisper. He eased her onto her back, taking her face in his hand, “Where did you hear that, falon?” “He told me.” “Who?” She smiled at him, “You.” He sighed, and combed his fingers through her hair in consolation. When she was asleep, he frowned with a sudden disdain with his “future self” for being so simultaneously reckless and cryptic. The door opened, and Cassandra walked in, frozen at the sight of them, “Oh, I, uhh…hmm.” Solas quickly stood from the bed, cheeks slightly flushed. “The mages are here,” Cassandra spoke quietly as he approached her, “we need to close the Breach.” He shook his head, “No, she needs more time. She—“, Cassandra grabbed his hands, examining the backs of his wrists, “She hurt you?” “An accident,” he asserted quickly, pulling his hands away from her, “it is fine.” She slowly nodded as he avoided her scrutiny. “Give her more time to rest, Seeker,” he insisted, “then she will be ready.”

Sounds of a lute permeated the air as a gentle snow fell from the star-filled sky. Faolin stood bundled up in her coat, watching as the people of Haven celebrated with laughter, drink, and dancing around a bonfire. Footsteps approached her in the snow, “Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred, but calm,” said Cassandra joining her, “The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.” “You know how many were involved,” said Faolin humbly, “Luck put me at the center.” “A strange kind of luck,” said Cassandra, “I’m not sure if we need more or less. But you’re right. This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.” A sudden tolling of the bell brought festivities to an abrupt halt, and the townspeople looked around in panic. Cullen ran past them towards the main gate, “Forces approaching! To arms!” They could see innumerous torch fires descending the mountain range in the distance. The fearful citizens of Haven scattered in every direction. “What the—“, exclaimed Cassandra, drawing her sword, “We must get to the gates!” Faolin stared out over the valley, she sensed a strange heaviness in the air, one she hadn’t felt since the Conclave.

“One watch guard reporting. There’s a massive force approaching, the bulk over the mountain,” said Cullen. “Under what banner?” Josephine asked. “None,” replied Cullen. “None?” A small explosion rattled the main gate. “I can’t come in unless you open,” a young man’s voice called from the other side. Faolin pushed open the gate and a hulking darkspawn staggered towards her before collapsing to the ground, leaving a young man in patchwork clothes and a helmet with an oversized hat brim, standing in its wake. He sheathed his daggers over his shoulders, “I’m Cole. I came to warn you, to help! People are coming to hurt you! You probably already know,” he said frantically. Faolin shook her head and waved her hands at him in confusion, “What is this? What’s going on?” “The Templars come to kill you,” he said grimly. Cullen approached shouting angrily, “Templars! Is this the orders response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” “The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole explained to her, “You know him. He knows you. You took his mages. There…” he said pointing out towards the mountains. Faolin and Cullen stepped forward, squinting through the snow. A large horrifying figure appeared at the top of a ridge, with a heavily-outfitted Templar next to him. “Samson,” Cullen scowled, muttering to himself. “He’s very angry that you took his mages,” warned Cole. She turned to Cullen desperately, “Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can,” he said drawing his sword, “Mages! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson! He will not make it easy! Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” He lifted his sword towards the mountains, eliciting a thundering battle cry from their forces.

The South trebuchet fired, launching a massive ball of flames that detonated into the side of the mountain. An avalanche of boulders and snow rapidly descended upon the remaining enemy forces in the valley, engulfing them. The war horn rang out as the Inquisition forces cheered victoriously. Varric, smiling ear-to-ear, slugged her in the arm and patted her on the back, “Yeah!” But there was suddenly a shrill roar overhead, and they looked up as a large shadow fell upon them. “Oh shit…” said Varric ominously, as a large, black dragon reigned fire down upon the trebuchet, exploding it into splinters, and hurling them backwards into the snow. Solas scrambled to his feet to help her up as she yelled, “Everyone to the gates!” Cassandra and Varric ushered the remaining soldiers to follow, “C’mon!” The gates closed behind them as surviving allies retreated behind the town’s walls. “We need everyone back to the Chantry,” ordered Cullen, “it’s the only building that might hold against….that beast. At this point, just make them work for it,” he said exasperated.

“Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter,” said Chancellor Roderick as everyone ran into the Chantry. He suddenly collapsed, Cole catching him before he could hit the floor. He wrapped his arm around his neck and assisted him over to a chair, “He tried to stop a Templar,” Cole explained, “the blade went deep. He’s going to die.” “What a charming boy,” said Roderick coughed sarcastically. “Herald, our position is not good,” Cullen ran up to her, “that dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” “I’ve seen an Archdemon,” said Cole, “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” “I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen dismissed him, “it’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.” “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole stated, “he only wants the Herald.” “If you know why he wants me, just say it,” she said. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them. Kill them anyway. I don’t like him.” “You don’t like…” Cullen through his arms up at Cole then shook his head, “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets. Cause one last slide.” Faolin disagreed, “We’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven,” she said. “We’re dying,” said Cullen, “but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“Yes, that,” whispered Cole, looking down the hall toward the War Room, “Chancellor Roderick can help,” he spoke up, “He wants to say it before he dies.” Roderick coughed, “There is a path, you wouldn’t know it, unless you made the Summer Pilgrimage as I have,” he stood weakly from the chair, “The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me, so I could…t-tell you.” Faolin turned to Cullen, “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?” “Possibly, if he shows us the path. But what of your escape?” She averted his gaze, staring at the floor. His face fell, “Perhaps you will surprise it? Find a way?” He reluctantly left her side to address two soldiers, “Inquisition, follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!” “Herald, if you were meant for this…if the Inquisition was meant for this, I pray for you,” said Roderick as Cole walked away with him. “Faolin,” she looked back as Cullen called to her, “keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

Red Templars and Darkspawn were waiting for them. Solas put up a wall of ice between them and the trebuchet, “Go!” Faolin hurried over and started turning the wheel, as the trebuchet slowly rotated. He threw up a barrier, and wielding his staff, acted as a defensive line between her and their foes, while Cassandra and Varric lead the main assault. After some time, the trebuchet was aimed, but something was wrong. Solas shot her a glance, “why isn’t it firing?” “I don’t know!” The shrill roar overhead got their attention, and the dragon was in a nosedive straight for them. “Run! Now!” As they sprinted off, Faolin stumbled, and the dragon scorched the ground on her heels, throwing her forward through the air. She landed flat on her back gasping, her head throbbing and ears ringing. She looked over to see the monster from before emerging from the flames. A tall, twisted creature with shards of Red Lyrium growing out of his flesh. The ground shook as she clamored to her feet, with the dragon landing behind her, pinning her between them. “Enough!” The Elder One commanded, bringing her attention back to him, “Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken, no more.” She balled her fists, flames peeking out between her fingers, “What are you? Why are you doing this?” “Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are. What I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.” He raised a hand, pointing at her, “You will kneel.” The flames in her hands grew as she clenched her hands tighter, “You’ll get nothing out of me!” “You will resist. You will always resist,” he produced a black spherical object with his left hand, “it matters not. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

It began emitting a strange red light, like electricity, as Corypheus reached his hand out toward her. She grimaced and grabbed her wrist as the Mark on her hand came to life. “It is your fault, ‘Herald’, you interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose,” he said to her. The red light from the object suddenly intensified as did the energy from the Mark. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” He clenched his fist and the Mark exploded with energy, she yelled in pain as she fell to her knees. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!” She glared up at him from the ground, “What is this thing meant to do?” “It is meant to bring certainty where there is none,” said Corypheus, “for you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” He marched over and grabbed her by her left wrist, dangling her in the air before him. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!” By her wrist, he flung her through the air like a doll, her head and back hitting the trebuchet hard as she cried out before falling to the platform. “The Anchor is permanent,” said Corypheus, “You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it, I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation—and god—it requires. And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die,” he said. Faolin staggered to her feet, picking up a nearby fallen sword from the ground out of desperation. “You expect me to fight, but that's not why I kept you talking,” she said with a vicious smirk, "Enjoy your victory. Here's your prize!" She kicked the chain lever, firing the trebuchet, and they watched as the giant boulder impacted with the side of the mountain triggering a massive avalanche. Snow and rock raced down the mountain side, blanketing the valley, and moving quickly toward them. She ran, as the dragon grabbed Corypheus, taking off with him. The force of the avalanche threw her forward, and she fell into an old well.

“Faolin!” He could barely hear himself think over the cold, howling wind stinging his face. His legs sank to his shins in the snow, as he pulled the hooded black cloak tighter around him. He grit his teeth, using his staff as a walking stick, slowing his fatigue. “Faolin!” He was without bearings, no sense of time itself, and his visibility was completely diminished by the density of the storm. He was truly alone. He stopped and closed his eyes, listening, pushing the howl of the wind into the background. Something metal. Melodic. In the distance. “Faolin!” He focused on it, clutching his hood down over his eyes, as he continued forward in its direction. A thunderous cracking sound spun him around with his staff at the ready. His eyes darted all around him, “Faolin!” Nothing. Likely treefall. As he concentrated again on the sound, he started moving again. He caught the faintest smell of smoke and scanned around him for firelight. Nothing. Nothing but white. “Faolin!” He kept moving toward the sound, growing louder. He stopped and squinted at what looked to be a small building in the distance and hastened his pace. As he approached he traced what he heard to a wind chime and observed smoke rising out of the chimney.

The old, wooden door creaked as he pushed it open and stepped inside a small, dark foyer. Quietly closing it behind him, he let his hood fall to his back as he removed the cloak, hanging it on a hook by the door. He entered the parlor, the walls aglow by firelight, pillar candles were scattered around the room revealing books and other various objects. A large daybed sat in the middle of the room, positioned in front the hearth. As he stepped further into the room, movement by the fire caught his attention, and he froze: on the floor in front of the hearth lay a very large wolf with snow white fur. Solas watched him silently as he licked his blood-stained feet. He furrowed his brow as he took a slow step forward, the wood floor creaked under his feet, and he was met with a set of bright amber-colored eyes. “Hamin, falon,” Solas said to him calmly as the wolf regarded him curiously with a head tilt. He heard a quiet moan, as the wolf returned to his paws, and slowly advanced around to the foot of the daybed. He found her dreaming peacefully on her back with her left arm casually thrown over her head, and a green wool blanket scarcely draped over her bare form.

“Faolin,” he whispered as he sat down next to her, combing her hair from her face, and his expression suddenly contorted into one of confusion. He traced his fingers over her left brow to her temple and down her to her cheek. Her vallaslin was gone as were the scars on her brow and over her ear. She stirred and whimpered at his touch. Studying her, he noticed that her silk-spun hair was longer than before with subtle curls, falling just over her breasts. He carefully slipped a hand underneath her, sweeping his fingers across the space between her shoulder blades. Her skin was smooth with no trace of any scarification. She softly moaned and roused, her eye lids, heavy with sleep, opened and she peered up at him drowsily. She smiled at him, as she reached up with her left hand to caress his cheek. He took her hand into his, studying it, and realized the Mark was no longer there. He looked at her as she whispered, “Hello, ha'fen.”

His eyes flew open, sweat beads on his forehead, his heart pounding. He sat up in the bedroll, inhaled deeply trying to slow his breathing, and the air smelled of incense. The dark tent was illuminated by candles, and the wind howled outside with a gentle snow. Covered in furs, Faolin lay in a deep sleep over on a bed of pelts. He stood, washed his hands, then took some of Adan’s elfroot poultice and crossed the tent to sit down beside her. He felt of her face with the back of his hand, her skin had warmed, and the color was returning to her cheeks. He sighed as he traced the maroon ink of her vallaslin around her eye; it was a dream. He dipped his fingers into the poultice, then delicately applied it to the cut on her forehead near her hairline. He needed a moment for it mattered not how many times he tended to her wounds, his guilt compounded more each time. He frowned with knitted brows as he pulled the pelts down to her hips. Her skin was decorated with an array of cuts and bruises, particularly around her ribs, and still slightly mottled from the hypothermia and loss of circulation when her heart stopped. Vivienne had carefully used her storm magic to defibrillate it, and he shuttered at the memory. Her left elbow had dislocated, and was immobilized after being reset. He got to work gently applying the poultice to the cuts on her collarbones, shoulders, arms, and abdomen, her breasts wrapped in gauze for discretion. Once finished, he pulled the pelts back over her, and regarded her face regretfully for a moment before hesitantly applying some of the poultice to her cracked lips.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Fade…or something?” Dorian startled him, and he quickly withdrew his hand. “I couldn’t sleep,” he lied, moving behind her head with a rag and bowl of water to work the blood out of her hair. Dorian took a seat on the ground next to her, “Why aren’t you in your tent?” “Because it was my turn to stay with her,” Solas lied again. “Ah yes,” goaded Dorian, “yes, I’m sure that’s it.” Solas gave him a look, and Dorian’s face fell into a frown as he looked at her. “I saw it, you know,” he said penitently. “Saw what,” asked Solas without looking up from her hair. “The mark…on her back,” Dorian said looking at him. Solas stopped for a second, then dipped the rag into the bowl, “And?” “And…I had no idea,” offered Dorian, “I—“, “Stop,” said Solas, “just stop.” Dorian shook his head despairingly, “It was carved…“, Solas glared at him, “Enough!” Several moments of silence passed between them, before Dorian finally spoke again, “Solas, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. The elven city of Arlathan sounds like a magical place, and for my ancestors to have destroyed it-“, “Dorian...hush,” Solas said annoyed, “Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more ‘innocent’ than your own Tevinter in its time. Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless. If you wish to make amends for past transgressions,” he gestured to Faolin, “free the slaves of all races who live in Tevinter today.” Dorian looked at him hopelessly, “I…don’t know that I _can_ do that.” Solas set the rag in the bowl and wiped his brow with his sleeve before looking up at him “Then how sorry are you?”

She stood outside the tent, shivering in a new pelt coat and boots that Harritt had thrown together with what was left. She breathed in the cold air deeply and sighed as he approached her, “A word?” She followed him out to the edge of the ridge where they stared down at the crumbled, charred remains of Haven, still smoldering. Solas energized a nearby brazier, and ushered her over to it for warmth. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he said, “Their faith is hard-won lethallin, worthy of pride…save one detail…the threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived…and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.” She folded her arms over her chest “Alright…what is it, and how do you know about it?” “Such things were foci said to channel power from our gods,” he explained, “Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.” She stared into the flames of the brazier expressionless, “Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they’ll find a way to blame elves,” she said coolly. “I suspect you are correct,” he agreed, “it is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.” He placed a hand on either of her shoulders and turned her to face him, looking her in the eyes with solemnity, “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you._ But…all is not lost. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisition can build…grow…” she looked at him curiously, “What place?” He smiled at her, “Skyhold…we’ll scout to the north, and you’ll be their guide. I will show you the way.”

“I absolutely must insist,” argued Cullen, “you cannot trek hundreds of miles with your wounds.” “I’m fine! Let Fintan carry supplies so the others don’t have to,” Faolin protested. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his head before resting a hand on her shoulder, leaning in close and lowering his voice, “Faolin…please,” he begged her. Solas approached with his pack and staff on his back, eyeing them from a distance. “They will understand,” he continued, “You are hurt. I…I can’t allow you to worsen your injuries.” She sighed, contemplating for a moment while smoothing her hand over the fur on the Red Hart’s side, then looked at him, and reluctantly nodded. Cullen smiled at her, “Thank you! Master Dennet!” The horse master brought over the saddle and prepared Fintan for riding. Solas watched her mouth move as she spoke to the hart, running her hand down the gentle creature’s nose. She felt his gaze and looked at him, and he gave her half a smile and nod as he approached. “Take it slow,” said Cullen. She grimaced as she put her left foot up in the stir-up, holding on to his shoulder for stability. “I’ve got you,” he reassured her as he lifted her by her hips and she swung her right leg over the saddle with an audible groan. Cullen squinted up at her, “You alright?” She frowned, but nodded, holding her side. He stepped backward, bumping into Solas, “Oh! Excuse me!” Solas nodded at him, then looked up at her. They traded wordless glances. The unspoken signal. Ready. He took the hart’s bridles in hand, and began escorting her through the mountains with the Inquisition and the survivors of Haven in tow.


	5. From the Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Translations:
> 
> Vena em, Lethallan. - Find me, Lethallan.  
> On’ala - Amazing  
> Ma serannas - Thank you  
> Ir abelas - I am sorry.  
> Ina’lah’ehn - Beautiful  
> Vindhru - Truth  
> Shadera - Flirt (n.)  
> 

The horses and harts are stabled in the morning fog as the sun begins to peek over the battlements while Inquisition flags dance in the northern wind. White satin sheets and pillows are spread over an Orlesian sleigh bed of ornately, carved wood. The herbs in the garden are tended to while several children laugh, chasing one another. Silk-spun hair is brushed and curled, falling over a bust that’s measured with string. Particles of dust float in rays of sunshine as numerous candlelit lanterns are suspended from the rafters at varying lengths like falling stars. Orlesian drapes of blue and gold silk drop from the trusses with large wood-carved Ferelden wolves placed under each. Nimble fingers precisely needle golden thread through sage-colored velvet. Busy hands and feet unroll cerulean blue rugs and hang heraldry from the Frostback Basin gifted by the Thane of Stone-Bear hold. Maps and markers lay scattered over a large slabbed and polished wood table that was once a great tree that symbolized peace. A silver-haired woman in Circle robes copies notes from a large, bound book in the Mage Tower. Golden feathers are draped over broad shoulders and long, caped velvet sleeves. Old, broken windows are carefully replaced by new glass stained with purple, blue, and teal dyes, the phases of the moon spanning across their arches. Diligent, calloused hands polish spaulders and a cuirass with a black and red-dyed fur-lined mantle. In the infirmary, a surgeon tends to her patients and takes inventory of supplies, while a woman gestures with her hand and recites lyrics from a piece of parchment. Braziers and incense are lit on either side of a polished iron throne under a statue of Andraste, surrounded by golden flames, as people begin to file in to the keep. A laurel crown of gold leaves comes to rest on a bed of fair hair. A Charger stands at attention on each step as she ascends the stairs to the keep, and The Bull gives a laudatory nod and wink as she reaches the door. The four advisors stand in waiting by the throne, and the idle chatter dissolves to whispers before falling to silence. Maryden’s entrancing voice sings from a balcony above as a shadow forms in the doorway:

_“Heruamin lotirien_

_Alai uethri maeria_

_Halurocon yalei nam bahna_

_Dolin nereba maome”_

_“Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Aloamin heruamin”_

Aching knees kiss the floor with bowed heads, as a train of green velvet embellished with golden leaves trails behind languid bare feet. Softly curled tresses frame stoic but delicate features, hands clasped below her waist, her focus devoted to each progressing step. His eyes follow her in awe as he transcribes every detail. There is a strained feeling in his chest, deeply moved by her presence and this moment, but also cognizant and wary of a lingering familiarity that he cannot process. Varric whispers to him, breaking the spell, “You gonna pick that up, Chuckles?” He glances at the floor flustered, “What?” Varric grins at him impishly, “Your jaw.” Solas gives him a look.

_“Heruamin on lonai_

_Imwe naine beriole”_

_“Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Aloamin heruamin”_

She lifts the fabric of her dress as Cullen takes her hand with an adoring smile and guides her up the steps to the throne. A sea of velvet spirals around her feet as she turns to look upon the many hopeful faces of her followers. He then kneels before her with arms outstretched, an elaborate burnished great-sword with a jeweled hilt and a golden dragon coiled at the base of the blade lay across his hands. Varric shakes his head and whispers, “She looks divine, doesn’t she?” Solas raises a brow as the word echoes with him, “Yes.” She grasps the hilt with both hands, standing with the sword blade-down in front of her as Maryden’s song draws to a close.

_“Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Noamin”_

_“Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Noamin Heruamon”_

Just as the room is silent once more, she takes her seat on the throne, resting the sword across her lap. Scores of blades then suddenly unsheathe, soaring into the air as the room erupts into thunderous chanting: “Inquisitor! Inquisitor! Inquisitor! Inquisitor!” She straightens her back, lifting her chin slightly, and the most subtle smile of approval spreads across her lips. There is a glint in his eye as he catches this, and the corner of his mouth curls upward into a shrewd half grin.

* * *

The main hall of the keep was filled with the sounds of minstrels, talking and laughter, silverware on plates, and wine filling chalices. They sat around a large table, meals finished, and drinks in hand. “Hey Solas,” said Iron Bull with a large beer stein, “You ever do your Fade thing and pretend you can fly? Just flap yours arms and zip around in there?” Then maybe bang some hot Fade ladies?” Dorian looked at Solas with a sheepish grin and raised brow, “He certainly needs to.” “No,” he replied, ignoring him while removing a deck of cards from a velvet satchel, “such behavior attracts the attention of demons.” “Aww! Demons shit up everything,” said the Bull taking a swig. Solas took a sip of wine, set down his glass, then began shuffling the deck. Dorian held out her chair as Faolin reseated herself, eyeing the cards, “What are we playing?” “Diamondback,” Solas said glancing at her, “Would you care to play?” “Sure,” she said, “Why not?” He began dealing clockwise, first himself, Iron Bull, then--Blackwall caught Solas’s hand as he dealt her a card shaking his head, “Don’t play Diamondback with Solas, m’lady. You’ve been warned.” Faolin looked at him suspiciously, “Why not?” Solas smirked as he continued dealing to Dorian then back to himself. “Taught him the game the other night, and the bastard turned right around and beat me at it. Lost everythin’. Had to walk back to my quarters with only a bucket for my bits.” “So now he’s dealing her in,” said Iron Bull cheekily, reordering his cards. Faolin choked on her sip of wine, and Dorian guffawed loudly, “Ha!” He watched her grin through her embarrassment, cheeks flushed, and opted for retribution on her behalf. “King’s pawn to E4,” he said smugly, organizing his hand. The Bull’s eyes widened, “You’re shitting me? We don’t even have a board!” “Too complicated for a savage Tal-Vashoth?” Solas traded a complacent look with her as she leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, holding a dinner knife like a quill while tapping the blade end on the table. “Smug little asshole,” said Iron Bull, “Pawn to E5.” “Pawn to F4. King’s Gambit.” “Accepted,” said The Bull hitting the table with his fist then pointing at him, “Pawn takes pawn. Give me a bit to get the pieces set in my head. Then we’ll see what you’ve got.” Solas grinned to himself as he took another sip of wine, observing Varric curiously as he appeared beside her, “Come with me,” the Dwarf said to her quietly, “there’s someone I’d like you meet.”

They stared over the battlements watching the people celebrating in the courtyard below. At the sound of footsteps, they both turned, and a smile spread across Varric’s face. A tall, brawny handsome-looking man with an unruly head and beard of black hair, and a blood swipe across his face descended the stairs toward them. “Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall,” Varric introduced him. “Though I don’t use that title much, anymore,” he replied, slightly bowing his head at her. “Hawke, the Inquisitor.” “Honored,” she said with a slight nod. “I thought you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him after all,” said Varric as he cracked open an ale. Hawke joined her at the edge of the battlement, leaning over it, “This view reminds me of my home in Kirkwall,” he said, “I had a balcony that overlooked the whole city. I loved it at first, but after a while all I could see were the people out there depending on me.” “You’re lucky it was just a single city. I’ve got all of Thedas,” she sighed. “You’re doing everything you can to protect them,” he reassured her. She folder her arms across her chest, “Does it ever get any easier?” “I’ll let you know,” he replied, standing up straight to face her, “I don’t envy you, Inquisitor, but I may be able to help you.” “Varric said that you fought Corypheus before...” “Fought and killed,” he said, “The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection with the Darkspawn to influence them.”

“Corypheus got in their heads, messed with their minds, turned them against each other,” explained Varric. “If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again,” warned Hawke. “If that’s what happened to the Wardens, do you think we can free them?” “It’s possible,” he said, “but we need to know more first. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then…nothing.” “Corpypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” added Varric, “Did your friend disappear with them?” “No,” said Hawke, “He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.” She tilted her head up at him, “If you didn’t know about Corypheus, what were you doing with the Wardens?” “The Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange for of lyrium. It was red,” he said, “I’d hoped the Wardens could tell me more about it.” Her eyes widened, “Corypheus had templars with him at Haven. They looked like they’d been exposed to the lyrium you describe.” Hawke’s brow furrowed as he sighed, “Hopefully my friend in the Wardens will know more.” “I appreciate the help,” she said. “I’m doing this as much for myself as I am for you,” said Hawke, “Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.”

“How go your attempts to ease the pain of those here at Skyhold, Cole?” Solas asked him, sifting through papers on his desk in the rotunda. “I made the scullery maid stop crying and one of the boys in the stable is happier. Some of the servants are angry. My help makes them work,” Cole replied, “Do you want me to stop?” “No,” said Solas, “You exist to help others. You are kindness, compassion, caring. If you stop giving comfort, you would twist into something else, as you did before I suspect.” He glanced down at his feet in shame, “Yes, I will not be that again.” “Good,” said Solas, “Never forget your purpose. It is a noble one, even if this world does not understand.” Cole tilted his head at him, “You’re different, Solas. Sharper. You’re in both places.” “I visit the Fade regularly. Perhaps you are sensing traces of it,” Solas explained, “You are a spirit who crossed the Veil and took human form.” Cole frowned, “Spirit or demon.” “The two are not so dissimilar, Cole,” he said taking a seat in his chair, “While the world may exert a pull in one direction or another, the choice is ultimately yours.”

She ran her hand across the soft white satin sheets and thought she could sleep for ages. The room was warm from the hearth, but a cold draft crept in through the windows causing her to shiver. She drew a bath then stood in front of the full-length mirror, letting her small clothes fall from her body. She stared at herself with tired eyes, a melancholic wave washing over her. She placed a hand on either side of her face, then lifted her chin as her hands slid down her neck to her collar bones. She crossed her arms to hug herself around her shoulders, letting her chin drop down onto her wrist. She looked into her own eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. The orb had changed her, and she felt herself slipping away into an unknown abyss. She exhaled as she lowered herself in to the warm water, aching joints and muscles soothed. She leaned her head back and gripped the sides of the tub, desperate to feel anything other than her despair. 

“Oh!” Solas looked up at him suddenly from his desk, “Cole?” Cole paced the room frantically, “Oh! It hurts!” Solas quickly stood from his chair, “What hurts, Cole? Who-” “Her!” He grabbed his hair and shook his head as he moved back and forth, “So many eyes. Running. Air is…strange. There! The glowing woman. Mother?” He stretched his arm out in front of him as if reaching for someone then pulled it back to his chest. “Fire. Screaming. Burnt flesh. Stomach turns. So many dead. Orb of change. Numbness.” He started panting, clenching his fists at his sides, “She burns the water with her hands,” he gasped, “Red, hot flesh. Never scalding.” Solas moved from around his desk slowly, watching Cole intensely. He shivered, hugging his arms, “White. Face stinging. A howling wind. Not wind. A howl. Where is it? So cold. So tired.” He suddenly jerked his shoulder blades back, “Ah!” He fell to his knees on the floor making sobbing sounds as Solas hurried to him, kneeling in front of him, “Teeth on my skin. Nails digging in. Dark magic. Blood…everywhere. Red shard. Sharp against my skin. Searing pain. She screams and weeps. Trapped. Never free.” He was beginning to sweat profusely and short of breath, “Burning water. Where is the pain? The bad man took it! I am his. Help me! Dizzying pain. Blood in my eye. No! Please! Stop!” Solas grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him, “Cole!” His body buckled as he sat on the floor, pulling his knees up under his chin, rocking himself. “Cole?” “She shines so bright, the darkness hides underneath,” he muttered, staring at the floor mournfully.

His steps were silent as he crept up the stairs. He had escaped the guard’s attention well enough, nondescript--what Dorian called him. Moonlight illuminated his steps, simultaneously casting shadows around the room through the stained glass. The wind whistled through the window seams, while the hearth fire crackled and hissed. He found her lying on the bed, prone, with her back and legs bare. The glow from the hearth cast shadows on her face, with her arms tucked underneath her, and her wet locks a tangled mess, trailing down to her shoulder blades. He brushed the hair from her face without a stir. She had finally surrendered to her exhaustion, he thought. He knew by the tear-stained sheets, her hands still gripping them weakly. He gently pulled the covers over her, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Vena em, Lethallan.”

She entered the rotunda mouth agape, captivated by the giant frescos, as she crossed the room. He glanced up from his book, observing her silently in his chair, as she slowly studied each one. “On’ala,” she whispered in awe, touching her fingers to her lips. “Ma serannas,” he said as she startled, quickly turning to him in surprise. He smiled at her warmly, standing from his chair, “Ir abelas. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said reassuringly. She sighed and smiled, relieved, then turned her attention back to the walls as he rounded his desk to join her. He watched her admiringly as she reached out with her fingers to touch a painted wolf, “Ina’lah’ehn,” she remarked. “Yes,” he muttered without breaking his gaze of her. She looked around curiously, noticing their appearance in the other frescos as well, “Do you know a lot about wolves?” “I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts.” She smiled thoughtfully, “Vindhru.” Some silence passed between them before she finally spoke, “I’m interested in what you told me of yourself and your studies. If you have time, I’d like to hear more.” “You continue to surprise me,” he said with a sigh, “Alright, let us talk. Preferably somewhere more interesting than this.”

“Why here?” She asked him as they climbed the snow-kissed steps. “Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you,” he replied. “We talked about that already,” she said as they proceeded along one of the paths they used to walk. “I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor,” he said. She raised a brow and smirked at him dubiously, “How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?” “A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think,” he explained. She slightly nodded, glancing up at one of the trebuchets. “You were a mystery…you still are,” he added, looking at her sincerely. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results,” he continued. She rolled her eyes with a smug smile, “Cassandra’s like that with everyone,” she quipped. He chuckled, “Yes.”

“You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra…nor she in me. I was ready to flee,” he confessed. “The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?” “Some place far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me.” She frowned at him disapprovingly. “I never said it was a good plan,” he countered. They stared up at the Breach from the wooden overlook as Solas reached up toward it, “I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed,” he lowered his arm, “No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” She broke her gaze from the Breach to find him staring at her, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he said, “You had sealed it with a gesture…and right then, I felt the whole world change.” She raised a brow, “Felt the whole world change?” “A figure of speech,” he said. She laughed, “Oh? Just a metaphor then,” she said cynically, “It was just that impressive to see me awake, then?” He frowned, “You change…” he faltered as she returned his gaze, “everything.” She grinned and huffed, looking down at her feet, “Shadera,” she muttered.

She looked at him as he stared out over the frozen water pensively. Without a thought, she suddenly reached over, turning his face toward hers, and hastily cast her lips upon his. She quickly steeled herself, looking back and forth between his blue eyes, his illegible expression discomfiting her. “Ir abelas,” she said, cheeks hot and lips pursed, as she turned away. Firm hands grabbed her waist, spinning her around and pulling her in with a slight dip, as his lips enveloped hers. She inhaled dizzyingly with furrowed brows, placing a hand on the small of his back, the other hesitantly on the side of his neck. He sighed at her touch, nodding into her lips, their tongues intertwined. He held her waist as he pulled away, looking at her: flushed cheeks, red lips, the fiery centers of her eyes burning brighter. He shook his head, leaning in to kiss her again, before letting her go and taking a step back. “We shouldn’t. It isn’t right. Not even here,” he warned her quietly. She looked puzzled, “What do you mean, ‘even here’?” He smiled at her, amused that she hadn’t figured it out, “Where did you think we were?” She looked around and her eyes slowly widened as she made the realization, “This isn’t real.” He chuckled, “That’s a matter of debate,” he said, “probably best discussed after you _wake up_.”

She gasped as she suddenly sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She looked around the room, regaining her bearings, the early morning light peeking in through the windows. She threw on a brown, long-sleeve linen dress that almost touched the floor, and haphazardly combed through the tangles of her wavy hair with her fingers. She walked down the stairs into the main hall. It was empty, quiet, and for a moment, the place felt abandoned again. She crossed down the hall and made her way to the garden without a soul in sight. She took delicate strides over the stepping stones as she inhaled the florals and brushed leaves delicately with her fingers, savoring her time alone here when the sun was still rising.

“Sleep well?” She turned sharply, relaxing her shoulders at the sight of him leaning against a column. She smirked at him shrewdly as she continued her stroll through the garden. He followed her from the terrace, stealing glances of her in between the columns. “When I asked to talk, I didn’t expect we’d be doing it in the Fade,” she looked up at him, “or for that matter, _doing it_ in the Fade.” He chuckled, “I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered, and I should not have encouraged it.” She smiled coyly, “You say that, but you’re the one who started with tongue.” His softly freckled cheeks blushed slightly, “I did no such thing!” She laughed wickedly, “Oh? Does it not count if it is only Fade tongue?” He smiled, glancing at his feet, “It’s been a long time, and things are…easier for me in the Fade,” he explained. He stepped off of the terrace to join her amongst the foliage, “I am not certain this is the best idea,” he said quietly, “It could lead to trouble.” She narrowed the space between them, “I’m willing to take that chance…if you are,” she replied. “I…maybe…yes,” he fumbled, “If I could take some time to think. There are…considerations,” he said. “Take all the time you need,” she smiled over her shoulder as she returned to her stroll. “Thank you,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back, “I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.”

She folded her arms behind her, leaning back against a pergola column in a secluded corner of the garden, “Tell me more about what you saw in your exploration of the fade,” she said. He smiled at her endearingly, “What do you wish to know?” “Tell me about the old ruins you explored.” He paced as he spoke, “I found the ruin of Barindur, a lost Tevinter city buried deep beneath a dead and barren wasteland. Volcanic ash had sealed it tight. In one dark moment, every living creature in the city seared and smothered. They were statues in the ashes, like a mold made to recall the lost. “Hmm,” she frowned at the thought of it, “what about old memories you found?” “I saw a savage human horde go marching toward the battlefront. They sang a soldier’s hymn to keep formation. The primal music shook the ground. These savage unwashed warriors carried harmonies no Chantry choir has mastered. Though their cause was all but hopeless, they sang songs that made the spirits weep.” She leaned her head back against the column, “Tell me about a spirit you encountered.” “I met a friendly spirit who observed the dreams of village girls as love first blossomed in their adolescence,” he said taking leisurely steps toward her, “With subtlety, she steered them all to village boys with gentle hearts who would return their love with gentle kindness. The Matchmaker, so I called her. That small village never knew its luck.” He looked down at her curiously, as she smiled to herself, “That amuses you?” She shook her head, returning his gaze, “I enjoy your stories, Solas.” He smiled as he stepped forward, confining her against the column, and reached up to touch her cheek, “And I am happy to share them with you,” he said quietly. “Inquisitor!” He quickly stepped away from her, turning his back to the guard approaching them, “Apologies, but they are requesting your presence in the War Room.” “Thank you,” she nodded then glanced back at Solas over her shoulder, “We’ll talk later.” He dipped his head at her and smiled, “Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English lyrics for "I Am the One":
> 
> I feel sun  
> Through the ashes in the sky.  
> Where's the one  
> Who'll guide us into the night?
> 
> What's begun  
> Is the war that will  
> Force this divide.
> 
> What's to come  
> Is fire and the end of time.
> 
> I am the one  
> Who can recount  
> What we've lost.
> 
> I am the one  
> Who will live on.
> 
> I have run  
> Through the fields  
> Of pain and sighs.
> 
> I have fought  
> To see the other side.
> 
> I am the one  
> Who can recount  
> What we've lost.
> 
> I am the one  
> Who will live on.


	6. All New Faded For Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some content in this chapter is NSFW
> 
> Elvhen to English Translations:
> 
> Ar vhalla ma - I welcome you  
> On dhea, hahren - Good day, old wise one  
> Dareth shiral - Safe journey  
> Lethallen - Term of endearment  
> Ir abelas - I am sorry  
> Tel'abelas - I am not sorry  
> Ir tel'him - I am me again  
> Ma melava halani - You helped me  
> Mala suledin nadas - Now you must endure  
> Ma ghilana mir din'an - Guide me into death  
> Ma nuvenin - As you say  
> Ma tel' eolasa nu - You do not understand pain  
> Lasa em halani ma eolasa - I will help you understand  
> Savhalla ha'fen - Hello, old wolf  
> Tel' dara - Don't go  
> Ar lath ma, vhenan - I love you, my heart  
> Ar nadas dara - I must go  
> Ahnsul - Why  
> Sil'ahn em - Answer me  
> Ahnsul ane ma enfenim - Why are you afraid  
> Garun sul em - Cum for me  
> Ar isala ma - I need you  
> Ma ane o'nala - You are amazing  
> Ma diana ma vhenan I nehn - You fill my heart with joy  
> Ina'lan'ehn erelan - Beautiful dreamer  
> Laiem sa - Fallen one  
> Ma'esha - My love/partner
> 
> Tevene to English Translations:
> 
> Festis bei umo canavarum - You will be the death of me  
> Incaensor - Derogatory term for magic-using slave  
> Rattus - Demeaning word for elf

“Then what happened?” The young boy asked her eagerly. “I remembered the other trebuchet, and realized I could still cause one last avalanche. I kicked the handle, releasing the pulley, and a giant flaming boulder soared into the mountain-side!” The boy gasped. “As the snow came crashing toward us, I ran as fast as I could, but fell into a snow-covered well while the Elder One and his dragon escaped.” Solas stood outside the door, observing them quietly as she distracted the boy with her story and applied a poultice to his hands and arms. The boy shook his head at her, “How did you escape the well?” “I had to find my way out,” she said, wrapping his burned skin in spider web gauze, “there was a terrible snow storm! I could barely see!” The boy’s eyes widened, “What did you do?” “I pressed onward,” she said, pausing to think, “It was the strangest thing…” “What was?” She smiled at him, “I heard the howl of a wolf, over and over, as if it were calling to me. Guiding me.” She set the spool of gauze on the table next to his cot, and ushered him to lie down as she tucked him in. She squinted at him with a smile, “Are you taking your medicine?” He nodded at her, smiling back. “Good. Get some rest,” she stood from the cot. “Will you come back…and tell me more stories?” “Of course,” she said, looking back at him, and he smiled and nodded as he closed his eyes to sleep.

“A most curious tale.” She met his eyes as she pulled the door. “Not a tale,” she replied, “a recounting of events.” “I had wondered how you managed to find your way out of that storm,” he said. She averted his gaze, “I suppose I had help.” “It would seem so,” he looked at her curiously. “He is wounded,” remarked Solas. “He had an accident,” she explained, “the mages in the tower will work with him.” “What of his parents?” She shook her head somberly and muttered, “Haven.” He glanced at the ground, “I see.” She inhaled deeply then sighed, “Did you need something?” “Yes,” he said with a look of concern, “a favor.” She tilted her head as they made their way across the courtyard, “Tell me.” “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages. Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.” “What did these mages use to capture your friend? Blood magic?” “A summoning circle, I would imagine.” She stopped and folded her arms over her chest with a puzzled look, “I’m sorry?” He sighed, “My friend is a spirit of wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to gain freedom and return to the Fade.” “I thought spirits _wanted_ to find their way into this world.” “Some do certainly. Just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Revain, but not everyone wants to go to Revain. My friend is an explorer seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically.” “Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?” He shook his head, “No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade. It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give, and intend to torture it,” he said gravely. She dropped her arms to her sides, “Alright, let’s go get your friend.” He smiled at her, relieved, “Thank you! I got a sense of my friend’s location before I woke. I’ll mark it on our map.”

“The Exalted Plains have been soaked in too much unexalted blood,” observed Solas has they turned onto a road near the Western Ramparts, “Great battles thin the veil. This region will be home to demons for ages to come,” he added grimly. She marveled at the lush woods in front of them, “So much death, and yet the forests have thrived.” “Indeed,” he said, turning to face her as a corpse shambled up behind her. “Look out!” He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him as he spun his staff from his back. He quickly knocked the corpse back with Stonefist, as she immolated two more. “The dead should stay dead, wouldn’t you say friend?” They turned quickly to see a Dalish hunter armed with a bow, standing on a log behind them. “There seems to be a lot of trouble in these parts,” said Faolin, tilting her head up at him curiously. “That’s putting it mildly,” said the elf, “the war has stopped, but now the dead are walking. Funny though, I’ve been watching these undead, and they seem…focused on the shem armies. As if…well…why wouldn’t someone want to kill humans, huh? Still…poor fools.” Solas holstered his staff, “Is your clan nearby?” “We’ve been camped for weeks in the fields to the west,” he pointed. “The war between the lions made passage through the Dirth difficult. Damaged some of our aravels. If you find my clan, tell Keeper Hawen I will continue the hunt, and perhaps find a safer route though the plains.” She gave him a puzzled look, "The Dirth?” “It’s what we call this place,” he replied, “Dirthavaren.” “We must be going,” Solas told her. “Good luck,” the hunter bid them farewell.

“Look there,” she pointed across the river, “aravels.” They waded through the water to the encampment and an older white-haired elf in Keeper robes eyed her unexpectedly as they approached. “Ar vhalla ma, sister,” he greeted her, “It is good to see you in this place from which we all came.” “On dhea, hahren,” she nodded at him. “Still beautiful, isn’t it? Even with scars left by the shemlen war and all the troubles that followed,” he said. “I met one of your hunters near the Western Ramparts,” she said, “he asked me to tell you that he will continue the hunt for a safer route.” “Olafin,” he sighed with relief, “thank you for bringing this to me.” “We seek a group of mages in the area,” said Solas, “have you seen them?” “The shem mages? We are aware of them. They have been a cause of some concern.” “Tell us where,” she said. He pointed downstream, “You will find them on the opposite bank. Stay alert, sister. Dareth shiral.”

Solas looked worried when they discovered several dead bodies, “These aren’t mages,” he said as he knelt down to examine them. “The bodies are burned, and these claw marks…” he suddenly whispered, “No…no, no, no!” They hastened their pace until they came upon a subdued pride demon in the middle of a summoning circle. Solas gasped, “My friend!” His face morphed from horror to rage, “Ugh!” “The mages turned your friend into a demon,” Faolin observed solemnly. “Yes,” he replied. “You said it was a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter.” “A spirit becomes a demon when it’s denied its original purpose,” he explained. “So they summoned it for something so opposed to its own nature, that it was corrupted: fighting,” she concluded. Nearing footsteps suddenly stole their attention, as a young man in Circle robes approached them. “Let us ask them,” said Solas bitterly.

“Mages! You’re not with the bandits?” The man seemed relieved to see them. “Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon,” he said. Solas spat furiously, “You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose!” “I-I-I-I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons. But after you help us, I can—“, “We are not here to help you,” Solas growled. She scoffed at the mage, “Word of advice: I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here.” “Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle—“, “Shut up,” ordered Solas, “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.” “I…yes,” the mage frowned. “You bound it to obedience then commanded it to kill,” Solas continued, “That is when it turned.” He looked at her, “The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill. No conflict with its nature. No demon.” The mage gasped, “What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!” Solas implored her, “Faolin, please!” She thought for a moment, “I’ve studied rituals like this,” she stated, “I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly.” His shoulders relaxed, “Thank you!” The pride demon stood and roared loudly as Solas grabbed his staff, “We must hurry!”

He knelt before his friend despairingly, “Lethallen, ir abelas,” The spirit looked at him, “Tel’abelas. Ir tel’him. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an.” He frowned, “Ma nuvenin,” he said as he motioned his hands in front of him, and the spirit faded away, “Dareth shiral.” She reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder from behind, “I heard what it said. It was right. You did help it,” she said quietly. “Now,” he said as he reached up to cover her hand with his, “I must endure.” “Let me know if I can help,” she offered as he stood and turned to her, smiling at her wearily, “You already have.” He then scowled as he directed his attention the mages, “All that remains is them.” “Thank you! We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected,” said the mage. Solas charged towards him “You! Tortured and killed my friend!” “We didn’t know it was just a spirit,” the mage backed away from him, clamoring for his staff, “the book said it could help—“, he suddenly stumbled backward over rocks, and a dagger came around to meet his neck. The other two mages quickly pulled their staves, “Let him go!”

“No,” she said coldly as she pressed the blade to his neck. Solas blinked at her surprisingly as the wind blew her silk-spun hair and a fiery storm churned in her eyes. “Ma tel’ eolasa nu,” she said looking at the other mages. He swallowed hard when her eyes met his, raising a brow. “Lasa em halani ma eolasa,” she said as a red ribbon of blood spread across her torso and the mage slumped to the ground. The other two wielded their staves, but were too slow as Solas created a rift that slammed them into each other, exploding into flames as he immolated them. He scowled standing over the remains, holstering his staff, “Damn them all,” he cursed. He looked up at her, the sea in her eyes calm once more, her white silk Antaam-saar stained red and besmirched, hands bloodied. She stared at him with furrowed brows, “Solas?” He suddenly felt dizzy, “I need some time alone,” he said, “I will meet you back at Skyhold,” and she watched in silence as he turned and walked away.

She climbed the hill along the water’s edge until she reached the top. A statue of a wolf lay in the center of the fall, bifurcating the roaring water spilling over. “Savhalla, ha’fen,” she greeted the statue before climbing over some large rocks to reach the other side. She waded across the water then up another hill to an old ruin. She stopped to listen to the birdsong and the wind in the trees, then sighed at the stone rubble of the shrine scattered along the ground. The doors of wrought iron and wood remained intact, and the two elven archers still stood over the archway. She pushed open the heavy doors with both hands then descended the stairs into the shrine. A fire burning in a brazier on the floor illuminated the room with an orange glow as she stared into the flames. She held out her hands in front of her, studying them, sticky with the dried blood of the mage. She looked down at herself, running her fingers across her abdomen, pulling at the blood-stained silk. Lighting a torch of veil fire from a brazier on the wall, she entered a side room, the shadows receded from the large statue of an owl. She gazed up at the owl for a moment until something else caught her eye. The flame from a single, pillar candle at the base of the statue flickered gently as she knelt down, and noticed a small object beside it on the floor. She picked it up and stood, using the light from her torch to examine it. Her lips stretched into a grin as she held the wooden toy dragon in her hand.

Varric was sitting next to the hearth in the main hall, pouring over a stack of papers with his quill in hand. “Battling the demons of paperwork? Now that’s a fight no one walks away from clean,” said Faolin. He looked up at her and smirked, “You have no idea how many times I’ve almost been killed by bills of lading.” He set aside his papers placing the quill on top of them, as she took a seat next to him, “I’ve been meaning to come talk to you anyhow,” he said pulling out his flask. “I never officially joined the Inquisition. I don’t know how to do this disciple-hood thing. I’m a businessman. Never really followed a ‘chosen one’ before.” “I don’t need a disciple,” she replied, “I need a friend.” He chuckled taking a swig, “If you knew how intimidating you are, you wouldn’t make it sound so simple. You just don’t know what you are to the people out there. The ‘Herald of Andraste’ is a symbol bigger than any of us.” She swallowed her sip of wine then leaned her head back on the chair, looking at him, “What am I to you then?” “None of this shit makes any sense to me,” he shook his head, staring into the fire, “Is this the end of the world? Did Andraste really send you through the Breach? I have no idea,” he turned to look at her, “You heard the crowd singing after Haven was attacked.” “Whatever I am to Thedas, I’m still just an ordinary person,” she said. “So…just a regular person like anybody else…right,” he sighed, “I should probably get back to work…unless…” he grinned at her, “You up for a game of Wicked Grace?” She smiled.

“Things got a little heated the other day between you and Cassandra,” she said as he shuffled, “Are you alright?” “Well…that depends,” he replied, “How angry is she?” He sighed, holding the deck in his hand, “I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important at the time.” “I know, Varric, you never would have kept quiet otherwise.” “I keep hoping…none of this is real. Maybe it’s all some bullshit from the Fade, and it will just disappear. I know I need to do better. I’m sorry,” he frowned. “It’s alright, Varric. What’s done is done,” she reassured him, as he smiled at her and began dealing. She took a sip of wine then set her glass down on the table, “I read your Tale of the Champion, and I have a question,” she said. He snorted as he organized his hand, “That’s a pretty common reaction. Go on.” She stared down at her cards solemnly, “What happened to Fenris?” He glanced up at her, somewhat surprised that she would ask about _him_ of all the characters, and their eyes met. “Fenris has kept himself busy,” he sighed, “hunting down the Tevinter slavers who came south to prey on the refugees. I’m not sure exactly where he is at the moment. You can usually follow the trail of corpses, though.” She nodded quietly as she leaned back in her chair, avoiding his gaze. His lips parted to ask, but he refrained, returning his attention to his cards.

“Cassandra is waiting for the next issue of Swords and Shields,” she said finally as she eyed him, smirking into another sip of wine. He coughed as he drank from his flask, “I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you just said that Cassandra read my books.” She smiled at him with a raised brow, running her finger around the rim of her glass, “She’s a pretty big fan, in fact.” “Are we talking about the same Cassandra? Tall grumpy Seeker? Likes stabbing things? Wait!” He slapped his hand down on the table, “Did you say the romance serial? Ha! She’ll be waiting for a while then. I haven’t finished it, and wasn’t planning to,” he said taking another drink. “That book is easily the worst I’ve ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink.” “Well Cassandra seems to be hooked on it,” she said coyly, leaning back in her seat. “I honestly thought a hole in the sky was the weirdest thing that could happen,” he leaned forward over the table, laying his cards down, “So…you want me to finish the latest issue of my worst serial? For Cassandra?” She nodded with a smile and her glass at her lips. He leaned back in his chair laughing drunkenly, “Oh! That’s such a terrible idea! I have to do it! On one condition,” he said leaning forward poking the table with his index finger, “I get to be there when you give her the book,” he said wickedly. She leaned forward with a grin, looking him in the eyes, “You’ve got a deal.” He clapped then rubbed his hands together, “I’ll get to work then! You know the fact that the book is terrible just makes it more worthwhile somehow,” he snickered as one of the doors to keep echoed shut. They both turned suddenly to see Solas making his way to the rotunda when he stopped, noticing them across the room, and his eyes met hers for a moment. “Hey, Chuckles,” said Varric warmly, but Solas pressed onward, the door closing behind him. Varric looked at her with concern, “What’s the matter with him?” “He lost someone,” she said quietly. “Oh,” Varric sighed, “I didn’t know.” “Just give him time,” she reassured him, “he’ll come around.”

The night sky was clear, and she could see every star as she stared up, leaning against the railing of the balcony. The wind had calmed some, the snow ceasing for a time, but a chill remained in the air. She pulled her lambswool shawl around her tighter as her long, beige slip rippled gently against her legs in the gentle breeze. “Hello.” She looked over her shoulder to see him standing in the doorway, “Hello,” she replied. He crossed the balcony and leaned against the railing next to her, “Searching the stars?” She gave a subtle laugh and smiled to herself, “Yes…there,” she pointed, “Tenebrium.” “Hmm,” he smiled as he acknowledged the owl-shaped cluster of stars. Some silence passed between them before she turned and asked, “How are you, Solas?” “It hurts,” he said mournfully staring out at the snow-covered mountains, “It always does, but I will survive.” “Thank you for coming back,” she said. He turned to meet her gaze, “You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help,” he paused staring at her, perhaps reflecting on what happened, “I could hardly abandon you now.” “Where did you go?” “I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the void. Someday, something new may grow there.” “What happens when a spirit dies?” “It isn’t the same for mortals,” he explained, “the energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again.” “The next time you have to mourn. You don’t need to be alone,” she said. He glanced down at his feet, “It’s been so long since I could trust someone.” “I know,” she said, returning her attention to the night sky. He looked up at her, “I’ll work on it.”

“What were you like,” he said, breaking the silence, “before the Anchor?” She looked down at her hand, turning it over, examining it. He continued, “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your…spirit?” She glanced over at him, “If it had, do you really think I’d have noticed?” “No,” he said smiling, “that’s an excellent point.” She tilted her head, “Why do you ask?” “You show a wisdom I have not seen since…since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected.” “What have I done that’s so surprising?” “You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours…have I misjudged them?” She shook her head, “The Dalish didn’t make me like this. The decisions were mine,” she replied. “Yes! You are wise to give yourself that due,” he smiled, “although the Dalish, in their fashion, may still have guided you. Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world, but not you.” She sighed, staring up at the stars again, “So what does this mean, Solas?” “It means I have not forgotten the kiss,” he replied softly. Her eyes fell to the snowy mountain tops before she returned his gaze, the corners of her mouth curling into a subtle smile. She sauntered toward him, one hand clutching her shawl, the other resting on the balcony railing behind her. “Good,” she said contently, her sea-colored eyes staring into his. He exhaled, shaking his head, and she grabbed him by the arm as he turned to walk away, “Tel’ dara.” He stopped, “It would be kinder in the long run,” he paused, then hastily turned around to face her, “but losing you would—“

His lips collided with hers with his hands on her waist, leaning her into the railing. Her arms encircled him in an embrace, as they exchanged warm breath between tangled tongues before he finally drew back. Their eyes met as he rested his forehead against hers, “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he breathed, then turned and walked away. She gaped at the empty space where he’d stood before pursuing him inside, “Stop!” He paused in front the hearth, the orange glow of the flames casting a shadow of him across the candlelit room. As he turned to face her, her shawl slipped down her arms, and she tossed it on the chair behind the desk. He immersed himself in the outline her curves and the peaks of her breasts under the sheer satin, and furrowed his brow, “Ar nadas dara,” he said reluctantly. She leaned against the desk and peered down her nose at him, grasping an elbow with either hand, “Ahnsul?” He averted her scrutinizing gaze, glancing at the floor. “Sil’ahn em,” she said. He looked up, surprised by her tone, “because you deserve better.” She frowned at him disbelievingly, “Ahnsul ane ma enfenim?” He quickly closed the space between them and she inhaled sharply as he grabbed her waist in one hand, the other cradled her ear firmly with his fingertips in her hair at the nape of her neck. Looking her in the eyes, he shook his head, “I’m not.”

His lips left her breathless as she grabbed him, pulling him closer. Discerning hands slid underneath beige satin as he guided her slip up over her thighs, grabbing her bare ass as he kissed her neck. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling at fabric, and he stood back to thread the wolf jaw through his collar then crossed his arms to remove the tunic. The talisman hung black as night against his pale skin as he watched her fingers survey his toned chest and abdomen, stopping at his waistband. He brushed the hair from her flushed face, tucking it behind her ear, and smiled at her endearingly. She tugged at his belt and his pants slid down his legs as he traced the line of her jaw to her chin and brushed his thumb across her crimson lips. He sighed, raising a brow, as she wrapped her fingers around his hard cock and took the length of his thumb into her mouth. He shook his head and placed her hands behind her on the desk, the straps of her slip falling down her arms, revealing her breasts. He spread her legs wide at her knees, then grabbed her hair and leaned her back, her dewy folds glistening as he opened her up. “Vhenan,” he breathed, studying her keenly, as he saturated his fingers and found her clit. Her eyes shut and lips parted into a moan as he pulled her hair, tilting her head back, her breasts accentuated by the heavy rise and fall of her chest. He made enticingly slow, circular strokes with his fingers and savored her torrid panting and trembling thighs. She moaned to the ceiling in exultation as he found her niche, and picked up the pace. “Solas,” she implored. “Yes?” He coaxed her along, pulling harder on her hair. “I--,” she failed to speak between her moans and breaths. He pressed his lips against her ear, “Garun sul em, vhenan,” then kissed her neck before easing her down onto the desk. He licked her nipple, making her shutter, then kissed his way down her abdomen. He draped her thighs over his shoulders, grabbing her hips, and slowly dragged his tongue across her clit. “Solas,” she rasped, reaching her hands over her head to grab the edge of the desk. He smiled as her thighs quivered against his ears and she began moving her hips with his tongue. He moaned into her approvingly as he lapped and slowly inserted his fingers. “Ohhhhsssmmm,” she groaned and seethed as she pulled her own hair, and a wave of heat surged between her thighs as she arched her back, a burning cry escaping her parted lips. He watched her transfixed as she unraveled before him, drinking her release as if parched again in the Western Approach.

She slowly sat up and collected herself, his pulse quickening as she met his eyes. Wild fires burned in her turbulent waters, and he suddenly felt famished. She placed her left hand on his neck, running her fingers over his cock with the other, and whispered in his ear, “Ar isala ma.” He took her hand and kissed her palm, the Mark tingled against his lips, and led her over to the bed. He sat while she stood before him, brushing the straps of her slip from her shoulders, and the beige satin fell into a puddle around her feet. He regarded her in awe, taking in her every detail, and committing it to memory. He pulled her closer, grasping her hips, and guided her down to straddle him; their eyes locked. She reached between her legs as she eased down to take him inside. He wrinkled his brows and closed his eyes as his lips parted, “Vhenan,” and buried his face in her neck as she began undulating her hips. He caressed her breast, taking the other into his mouth and rolling his tongue over her nipple, then kissed her feverishly as he held her hips and thrust harder. Their foreheads pressed together as they panted in synchrony, rising and falling with an unseen tide. He held her tightly as if she might vanish, burying his face under her chin, and groaned as he finally spilled inside her. She took his face in her hands, breathless, and kissed him on his cheek. He fell back on the bed with a moan, and stroked her thighs with his fingers as he gazed up at her. She balanced herself on top of him with her hand on his abdomen, and tucked her messy hair behind her ear. He tilted his head and smiled up at her, “Ma ane on’ala.” She bit her lip with a grin, averting his eyes, as her cheeks flushed. With laced fingers, he took her hands and pulled her down to him, brushing his nose against hers, “Ma diana ma vhenan I nehn.” He kissed her deeply as he reached with both arms, grabbing her ass, “My hands as well.” He flinched as she pinched his sides, and they laughed like children into each other’s lips.

The fire crackled as he crouched, placing another log in the hearth, then stood and dusted the soot from his hands. He rejoined her on the floor at the foot of the bed, draping his arm around her, and planting a kiss on her forehead. She took his talisman into her hand, running her finger across the jagged teeth, “Why do you wear this?” He gazed across the room at the flames, considering his answer, “It serves as a reminder,” he finally replied. “Of?” “Where I come from. The mistakes I have made,” he said looking at her. “But why a wolf’s jaw?” He sighed, leaning back against the footboard and smiled at her meekly, “That’s a story for a different occasion, vhenan.” She turned it over in her hand as she studied it, “Do you know what it reminds me of?” He raised a brow at her curiously, “Tell me.” “That tale the Dalish tell about the Dread Wolf, Fen’harel,” she said. He shifted a little as his shoulders tensed, “Oh?” “They say he was a trickster who didn’t care for the elves. That he was to arrange a truce between our gods and the Forgotten Ones, but instead slayed Mythal and sealed the others away, then receded to a far corner of the earth giggling madly and hugging himself in glee,” she grinned at him amusingly, and let the talisman fall back against his chest, “the mad god.” He pulled the leather cords over his head, setting the jaw on the floor beside him, “Ah, the Dalish,” he exclaimed bitterly, “and the tales they spin on matters which they know nothing of.” “I don’t believe it,” she said taking a sip from her glass of water. He tilted his head at her, “You don’t believe what?” “The story.” “No? So…what do you think happened to your gods?” She shook her head, looking at him, “I don’t know.”

He pulled her over onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and sighed. “Tell me more about your time in the Fade,” she said, reaching up to touch his chin. He stroked her arm with the backs of his fingers, nuzzling her hair, “I do believe it is your turn to tell a story,” he said. “Me?” “Yes.” She sat up, peering at him over her shoulder with a smirk, “What tale shall I spin for you, hahren?” He smiled and gently swept her hair over her left shoulder, her lips parting as he slowly pulled the furs down, exposing her back in full. He leaned in to kiss her shoulder as he carefully ran his fingertips over the brand, and she shuttered at his touch, hugging the furs over her breasts, “You don’t want to hear about that.” He took her chin into his fingers, turning her to face him, “I do.” She clenched her jaw as she stared across the room at the hearth, listening to the crackling fire and cold wind through the window seams. He stretched out on the floor alongside her, propping himself up with a pillow under his arm so he could gaze up at her. She sighed as she leaned back against the footboard, “What would you like to know?” His eyes met hers as he pet the top of her foot, “Everything.”

“Once there was a little girl who lived in a lush, vibrant coastal forest. She spent her time painting by the sea, braiding her sister’s unruly hair, tending the herbs and flowers, and mending her brothers’ cuts and scrapes. Above all things, she adored her mother with whom she shared an impenetrable bond. She was a woman of divine beauty who taught her compassion, resolve, and independence. As the girl came into womanhood, she gained the wisdom to see things how they truly were, resenting her father for his insufferable arrogance, and projection of his guilt onto her mother for his infidelities. To her dismay, her siblings failed to share her sentiment, instead placing him on a pedestal. To them he was a symbol of pride and power, all that they could be, a force to rise above. Time eroded into division amongst them as their animosity grew. One day the family came together for a feast with their mother’s hopes of sewing peace between them, but instead a violent quarrel ensued. Against her better judgment, but at her mother’s insistence, the woman fled to safety by the sea. After some time, she finally returned, but her family was gone without a trace. She waited a fortnight in hopes that her mother would return, but to no avail. She set out alone to find her, searching tirelessly, day and night. Finally, exhausted from her endeavor, she resolved to make camp and rest. While she lay asleep, a group of shem marauders descended upon her. As they held her down and tore at her clothes, another man ordered them to stop, warning them of the consequences if she were sullied. And so, they took her from the forest to Tevinter, where she found herself in the service of a Magister. He was a possessive, lecherous man obsessed with blood magic and lyrium, subjecting his slaves to his barbaric and unfounded experiments -- but not her. He was enthralled by her, his _Ina’lan’ehn erelan_ , which he patronizingly called her on account of how she was found. He brought her to his Kirkwall estate in Hightown, dressed her in elegant raiment and gleaming jewels, and flaunted her like a trophy at Imperium soirees. “Festis bei umo canavarum,” he would tell her afterward as he peeled away her layers of fine silk and velvet. At first he was repulsively gentle with his decrepit thrusts and wheezes, but when he learned of her magic, he punished her. Bruising her skin with gnashing teeth and tongue, her struck her with his hands and bitter words between carnal throes, “incaensor”, “rattus”, “laiem sa”. When he was bored, he would summon his other prize – an elf, white of hair – and conduct them like an orchestra while he handled himself. The more they were forced together, the closer they became, and he kept a watchful eye on her from the shadows while he worked to set her free. One day, another magister visited the estate and conferred with their master in his study for some time. That night, he summoned her to his chambers, and showed her a peculiar weapon imbued with red lyrium. Unsure of how to wield artifact, he promised her transcendence all the same as he pinned her to the floor. Her sobs and screams echoed through the manor as he cut her flawless skin. Suddenly, he was forced off of her, and she clamored to her feet. “Come on!” He grabbed her arm, and they ran down the halls, and outside to a carriage. That was where they took her away, and the last time she saw him, for if he fled with her – she would never be safe. “Dareth shiral, ma’esha (safe journey, my love),” the only Elvhen he ever spoke, as she watched him grow smaller through teary eyes. From there she was smuggled north, where she met the ones who knew her name and welcomed her with open arms. They vowed to keep her safe, her existence a secret. The Keeper marked her face, named her First, and henceforth she was called Lavellan.”

He sat up slowly, brows slightly raised with lips parted, and reached out to trace the ink with his fingers, “your vallaslin.” “A lie,” she confessed, lowering her eyes to the floor. “You’re not Dalish,” he said, sounding relieved. She shook her head, “No.” ”And your family?” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she closed her eyes, shaking her head again. He lifted her chin and took her face into his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs, “I’m sorry.” He stood and extended his hands, taking hers, and pulled her to her feet, “Come on.” He crawled into bed next to her, and pulled the covers over them as he draped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. She sighed, “Will you tell me more about the Fade, now?” He smiled, “Of course, vhenan. I would be happy to share with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long hiatus, but life and a massive writer's block happened.  
> The next five chapters are mapped out, so I will be working on those.  
> I hope everyone is well, and happy holidays!


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